5  -iu 

N».   OCTVTH. 

106 

NCH'S    STANDARD    DRAMA 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN: 


OB, 

LIFE  AMONG   THE   LOWLY. 


^  Jcnuelic  |Rrama,  in  Si 
DRAMATIZED  BY  GEOEGE  L,  AIKEN. 


WITH  CAST  OF  CHARACTERS,  STAGE  BUSINESS,  COSTUMES, 
RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  Ac.,  Ac. 


AS  PEBFOBMED  AT  THE  PBIffOIPAL  TE\EATBEB. 


PRICE  50  CENTS 


NEW  YORK 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

25  WEST  45TH  STR3IHIJ 


LONDON 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  Lm 
26  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET 
LIU  K  A  STRAND 


•a   1  LOS  ANGELES 

3gional 
icility 


BOOKS  ON  THE  THEATRE 

REFERENCE  POINT 

By  Arthur  Hopkins 

Having  brought  to  our  stage  new  methods  of  production 
as  simple  as  they  were  revolutionary,  Mr.  Hopkins  in 
Reference  Point  recapitulates  personal  theories,  practices 
and  conclusions  on  stage  direction  and  production.  It  is  a 
theatre  book  based  on  a  series  of  papers  read  by  Arthur 
Hopkins  at  the  1947  Theatre  Seminar  at  Fordham  University 
for  drama  teachers,  directors  and  students  from  all  parts  of 
the  country.  It  is  best  termed  a  book  of  practical  idealism, 
for  it  is  concerned  with  creative  ways  in  writing,  acting,  and 
directing,  and  access  to  their  source.  "I  want  to  stand  up 
and  cheer  .  .  .  Mr.  Hopkins  combed  his  memories,  reflected 
on  his  principles  and  came  up  with  some  mighty  sound,  help 
ful  and  even  inspiring  comment." — Harry  Hansen,  N.  Y. 
World-Telegram. 

Price,  $2.50. 

MODERN  ACTING:  A  MANUAL 

By  Sophie  Rosenstein,  Larrae  A.  Haydon,  Wilbur  Sparrow. 

The  fundamentals  of  acting  as  taught  at  the  University  of 
Washington  are  compressed  clearly  and  usefully  in  these 
pages.  The  approach  and  method  are  described  and  illustrated 
so  that  others  may  adopt  them  and  profit  by  them. 

Price,  $1.75. 

PROBLEM  PROJECTS  IN  ACTING 

By  Katharine  Kester 

Here  are  thirty  scenes,  varying  from  two  to  twelve  minutes, 
which  are  so  arranged  that  each  scene  appears  as  a  complete 
unit  and  not  as  an  excerpt  from  a  longer  work.  The  problem- 
project  method  is  to  emphasize  the  one  important  problem  in 
a  scene,  and  at  the  same  time  to  correlate  all  the  other  fac 
tors  involved  in  acting. 

Price,  $175. 

THE  ACTOR  CREATES 

By  Aristide  D'Angelo,  M.A.,  LL.B.,  instructor  at  the 
American  Academy  of  Dramatic  Arts. 

This  book  originally  intended  for  the  use  of  students  at 
the  American  Academy  of  Dramatic  Arts,  is  addressed  to 
actors,  directors,  teachers,  ana  to  that  larger  audience 
interested  in  the  appreciation  of  play  presentation. 

Price,  $1.50. 


FRENCH'S    STANDARD    DRAMA 


No,  CCXVI1I 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN 

OR. 

LIFE    AMONG    THE     LOWLY. 

$  Domestic  grants,  in  Six  TUts. 
DRAMATIZED  BY  GEORGE  L.   AIKEN 


ro    WHH'H     «*K    ADUKI) 

of  vbe  Costume — Cast  of   the   Characters — Entrnnct»H  ami 
«l»t!Te  I'oditiooH  of  the  Performers  en  the  St»jr«.   UK* 
the  whole  of  th»  Staife  BusiBeiw 


*»    PKRPORMBn    AT    THB 


\:     KVGLISH    AND   AMERICAN   THEATK!*' 


NEW  YORK 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

25  WEST  45TH  STREET 


LONDON 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  LTD. 

26  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET 

STRAND 


.  y  a  ^  j*         i  rf      S       |  I  ft  . 

a  •?  =       «"S.  S  '         §  .H      j  sc  >  *  »  j  •£  a  >>    .  ji       a 

XCB        ™cs^"~1' — •'^^fJsjDbcca^^®  "^  '^^3£»^        ^* 

|"a|s«H|gs^53f«|*:  i  |*lg|i3 


_         ^J  ^*  ^  1*1 

•J  O  Bw  i-j  O  G3      fc 


's    c  ^  2  •£ 

H^O,H 


!/}>->         S 


«° 

!« 


•  S     6  oj  ^  6  d  33 

I  i 


k.     OB 

*  3 


«  *  »      £     J 

"  a    s 


II 

"»5 


k 

•**  ^ 

il 


S' 


•5  O  C  a  W  O  O 

1s=  J.fi= 


:P 


. 
s  g 

•«*    SB 


;j 


«StaC«*«ift!JlUffdl 


srilii 

glJIid! 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


tJNCLK   TOM'S   CABIN. 


ACT     1 

SCENE  I.  — Plain  Chamber 
Enter  ELIZA.  R   H.,  meeting  GEORGE,  L.  a. 

Eliza.   Ah!  George,  is  it  you  7     Well.  I  am  so  clad  yon  r«  come 
JBOROE  regards  her  mournfully.}    Why  don't  you  smile,   and   aal 
after  Harry  t 

George.  [Bitterly. \  I  wish  lie'd  never  been  born  ! — I  wish  I'd  nevet 
t.een  born  myself ! 

Eliza.  [Sinking  her  head  upon  his  breast  and  ttetping.]  Oh 
George  ! 

Geo.  There  now,  Eliza  ,  it's  too  bad  for  mo  to  make  you  feel  so. 
Oh  !  how  I  wish  you  had  never  seen  me — you  might  have  b«er 
happy  ! 

Eliza.  George  !  George  I  how  can  you  talk  so  1  What  dreadful 
thing  has  happened,  or  is  going  to  happen  7  I'm  sure*  we've  been 
very  happy  till  lately. 

Geo.  So  we  have,  dear.  But  oh  !  I  wish  I'd  never  seen  yon,  nor 
you  me. 

Eliza.  Oh,  George  !  how  can  you  ? 

Geo.  Yes,  Eliza,  it's  all  misery  !  misery  !  The  very  life  is  burning 
out  of  me  !  I'm  a  poor,  miserable,  forlorn  drudge  !  I  shall  only  drag 
yon  down  with  rue,  that's  all !  What's  the  use  of  our  trying  to  do 
anything — trying  to  know  anything — trying  to  be  anything  1  I  wish 
I  was  dead  ! 

Eliza.  Oh  !  now,  dear  George,  that  is  really  wicked  I  know  ho* 
7»u  feel  about  losing  your  place  in  the  factory,  and  you  have  a  hard 
jaaster ;  but  pray  be  patient — 

Geo.  Patient '  Haven't  I  been  patient !  Did  I  say  a  word  whe< 
.ia  came  and  took  me  away — for  no  earthly  reason — from  the  place 
«rnere  everybody  was  kind  to  me  7  I'd  paid  him  truly  every  cent  o' 
aay  earnings,  and  they  all  say  I  worked  well. 

Eliza.  Well,  it  \t  dreadful ;  but,  after  all,  he  ic  yoar  master  yo  • 
vnow. 

Qto.  My  master!  And  who  made  him  my  mast  ?r  1  That's  wtmt 
<  Ibink  of  What  righi  ha-  ii^  i"  Hi**  '  I'm  as  much  a  ma.';  a*  b» 


2114879 


DHOI.F  TOM'S*  CABIS 

>a  What  right  baa  he  to  make  a  dray-hurst)  ot  me  :  „..  ;aKb  tu» 
from  thinss  I  can  do  better  tlian  he  can,  and  put  me  l<>  work  that 
any  horse  can  do  1  He  tries  to  do  it;  he  says  he'll  bring  me  dowi 
and  humble  me,  and  he  puts,  me  to  just  the  hardest,  meanest  and  dir 
Uest  work,  on  purpose. 

Eliza.  Oh,  George!  George!  you  frighten  me.  Why,  1  never  heani 
»ou  talk  so.  I'm  afraid  you'll  do  something  dreadful  1  dor.  t  won 
ler  at  your  frelings  at  all ;  but  oh !  do  be  careful — for  my  sake,  lo. 
•JarryV 

6fo.  I  have  been  careful,  and  1  have  been  patient,  but  it's  grew- 
r.g  worse  and  worse — flesh  and  blood  can't  bear  it  any  longer.  Every 
.banco  he  can  get  to  insult  and  torment  me  he  takes,  lie  says  thai 
*h<>ugh  I  don't  say  anything,  he  sees  that  I've  got  the  devil  in  me.  and 
!:e  means  to  bring  it  out ;  and  one  of  these  days  it  will  come  out,  in 
a  way  that  he  won't  like,  or  I'm  mistaken. 

ffliza.  Well,  I  always  thought  that  I  must  obey  ray  master  and 
•nistress,  or  I  couldn't  be  a  Christian. 

Qeo.  There  is  some  sense  in  it.  in  your  case.  They  have  brouul1' 
vou  up  like  a  child — fed  you,  Clothed  you  and  taught  you,  so  thai 
you  have  a  good  education — that  is  some  reason  why  they  should 
Haim  you.  But  I  have  been  kicked  and  cuffed  and  sworn  at,  au<4 
what  do  I  owe  ?  I've  paid  for  all  my  keeping  a  hundred  times  over 
I  won't  bear  it! — no,  I  won't  I  Muster  will  find  out  that  I'm  our 
whipping  won't  tame.  My  day  will  come  yet,  if  he  don't  look  out ! 

Eliza.  What  are  you  going  to  do  1  Oh  '  George,  don't  do  any 
thing  wicked  ;  if  yon  only  trust  in  heaven  and  try  to  do  rijrbt,  it  will 
deliver  you. 

Geo.  Eliza,  my  heart's  full  of  bitterness.  I  can't  trust  in  heaven 
Why  does  it  let  things  be  so  7 

Sliza.  Oh,  Ge'*ye'  we  must  all  have  faith.  Mistress  says  thai 
when  all  things  yo  wrong  to  us,  we  must  believe  that  heaven  is  doing 
the  very  best. 

Qeo.  That's  easy  for  people  to  say  who  am  sitting  on  their  sofa* 
and  riding  in  their  carriages  ,  but  let  them  be  where  I  am — I  guess  il 
would  come  some  hatder.  I  wish  I  could  be  goon  ;  but  my  heart 
burns  and  can't  be  reconciled.  You  couldn't,  in  u»y  olace,  you  can' 
iow,  if  I  tell  you  all  I've  got  to  say  ;  you  don't  know  the  whole  yet 

Sliza.  What  do  you  mean  1 

Geo.  Well,  late'y  my  master  has  been  saying  that  he  was  a  fool  *.i 
lei  me  marry  off  the  place — that  he  hates  Mr.  Shelby  and  al  bin  triba 
— and  he  says  he  won't  let  me  come  here  any  more  ani  tl  •  t  1  shah 
take  a  wife  and  settle  down  on  his  place. 

Elizu.  But  you  were  married  to  me  by  the  minister,  as  mv  ch  as  if 
you  had  been  *  white  man. 

Qeo.  Don  t  you  know  I  can't  hold  you  for  my  wife  if  he  chooses  to 
part  us  7  That  is  why  1  wish  I'd  never  seen  y««; — it  would  have  been 
better  for  us  both — it  would  have  been  better  for  our  poor  child  if  h» 
tid  never  been  born. 

Rltza.  OL  !  bnt  mf  master  ts  so  kind. 

^~a    Ves.  b'it  who   UIIM-—  i — hf  -uav   1:e   ai.d  then   Ksi'Tv  ma»  h» 


OBCLB    TOM  8    CAFI>  • 

.*Ud  to  i.obody  knows  who.  What  pleasure  is  ii  U.KI  i.r  ts>  hai.dd«i»< 
and  smart  and  bright  !  1  tell  you,  Eliza,  that  a  s»oia  »vili  pierct 
through  your  soul  tor  every  good  and  pleasant  tiling  your  child  i.s  o1 
tias.  It  will  make  him  worth  too  much  for  you  to  keep. 

Eliza.   Heaven  forbid  ! 

Geo.  So.  Eliza,  my  girl,  bear  up  now,  and  good  by,  for  I'm  goi.  i. 

Eliza.  Going.  George  !     Going  where  1 

Gto.  To  Canada  ;  and  when  I'm  there  I'll  ouy  yo-i--  that's  all  t 
ope  that's  left  us.  You  have  a  kind  master,  that  won't  it  fus» 
all  you.  I'll  buy  you  and  the  boy — heaven  helping  me,  I  will  ' 

Eliza.  Oh,  dreadful!     It  you  should  be  taken  ! 

Geo.  I  won't  be  taken,  Eliza — I'll  die  first '     I'll  he  free,  <  r  I  II  di« 

Eliza.   You  will  not  kill  yourself! 

Geo.  No  need  of  that ;  they  will  kill  me.  fast  enough.     I  will  neve: 
o  down  the  river  alive- 

Eliza.  Oh,  George  !  for  my  sake,  do  be  careful.  Don't  lay  hand; 
>n  yourself,  or  anybody  else.  You  are  tempted  too  much,  but  don't 
*io,  if  you  must,  but  go  carefully,  prudently,  and  pray  heaven  to  hel] 
rou  ! 

Geo.  Well,  then,  Eliza,  hear  my  plan.  I'm  going  home  quite  re 
Migned,  you  understand,  as  if  all  was  over.  I've  got  some  prepara 
lions  made,  and  there  are  those  that  will  help  me ;  and  iii  the  fours* 
•>(  a  few  days  I  shall  be  ainoi.g  the  missing.  W«)ll,  now.  good  by. 

Ktiza.  A  moment — our  boy. 

Geo.  [Choked  with  emotion.]  True,  I  had  forgotten  him;  one  lus1 
look,  and  then  farewell  ! 

Eliza.  And  heaven  grant  it  be  not  forever!  [Exeunt,  R.  n 

SCENE  IL — A  dining  room. —  Table  and   chairs   c. — Dessert,    wine 
$c.,  on  table. — SHELBY  and  HALKY  discovered  at  table 

Shel.  That  is  the  way  1  should  arrange  the  matter. 

Hal.  I  can't  make  trade  that  way — I  positively  can't,    Mr.  Shelby 

[Drinks. 

Shel.  Why,  the  fact  is,  Haley,  Tom  is  an  uncommon  fellow  !  Ho  >> 
•aartainly  worth  that  sum  anywhere — steady,  honest,  rapaole.  manage? 
my  whole  farm  like  a  clock  ! 

Hal   You  mean  honest,  as  niggers  go.  |  Fills  glass. 

Skd.  No;  I  mean,  really,  Tom  is  a  good,  steady,  sensible,  piou 
fellow.  He  got  religion  at  a  camp-meeting,  four  years  ago,  and  1  be 
U^e  he  really  did  get  it.  I've  trusted  him  since  then,  with  over> 
thing  I  have — money,  house  horses,  and  let  him  come  and  go  10.11.. 
the  country,  and  I  always  found  him  true  and  square  in  event  V.I.  is: 

Hal  Some  folks  don't  believe  there  is  pious  niggers,  Shelby  I-'. 
I  do.  I  had  a  fellow,  now,  in  this  yer  last  lot  I  took  to  Orleans- 
twas  as  good  as  a  meetin'  now,  really,  to  hear  that  critter  pray  ;  ai.< 
he  was  uuite  gentle  and  quiet  like.  He  fetched  me  a  good  sum,  to' 
for  I  bought  him  cheap  of  a  ma;,  that  was  'bliged  t.o  sell  out,  so  I  re 
\lized  six  hundred  on  him.  Yes.  I  consider  religion  a  valevahl. 
thins  "'  £  niuver  •vhen  it's  the  jjenniin"  artirlf  ai.d  •«•  mixta'd* 


TOM'B    CABIK. 

Sktl.  Well,  Tom's  got  the  r  >  U  article,  if  ever  t  fellow  Bad.     Wbj 
last  fall  I  let  him  go  to  Cine* a jatti  alone,  to  do  business  for  mu  ant! 
bring  home  five  hundred  do  iars      "Tom,"  says  I  to  him,  "  I  trus; 
you,  because  I  think  you    iro   a   Christian — I   knew   you    wouldn't 
cheat"     Tom  comes  back  sure  enough,  I  knew  he  would.  Some  low 
fellows,  they  say,  said  to  Vim — "  Tom,  why   don't  you  make  tra>3k> 
for  Caiiada  1"    "  Ah,  mn'ter  trusted  me,  and  I  couldn't."  was  his  a- 
iwer.     They  told  me  all  about  it.     I  am  sorry  to   part   with   Tom 
tust  say.  You  ought  to  let  him  cover  the  whole  balance  of  the  de,  ' 
i  \d  you  would,  Halev,  if  you  had  any  conscience. 

Hal  Well,  I've  got  just  as  much  conscience  as  any  man  in  bu.vi 
K-SS  can  afford  to  keep,  just  a  little,  you  know,  to  swear  by,  <)> 
twere ;  a:ul  f,l>ei.  I'm  ready  U>  do  anything  in  reason  to  "bli:."- 
i  lends,  but  tbis  yer,  you  see,  is  a  leetle  too  hard  on  a  fellow — a  Iw 
'•'•>  tin)  hard  !  [Fittt  glasi  again 

Shel.  We1!.  tTien,  Hatey,  how  will  you  trade  1 

Hal.  Well,  haven't  you  a  boy  or  a  girl  that  you  coul'd  throw  m 
with  Tom  '! 

Skel.  Hum  !  none  that  I  could  well  spare  ;  to  tell  the  trulh,  ii '.-• 
only  hard  necessity  makes  me  willing  to  sell  at  all.  I  dou't  iikr 
parting  with  any  of  my  hands,  that's  a  fact. 

HAKEY  runs  in  R.  H. 

H.Jloa  !  Jim  Crow!  [Thrones  abunch  of  raisins  (oicards  him  ]    Fi<  !• 
that  np  now  !  [HABKY  Joes  .so. 

Hal.  iJruvo,  little  'un  !  [Throws  an  orange,  which  HAKRY  catcher 
lie  sings  and  dances  around  the  stage.']  Hurrah  !  Bravo  !  What  M 
young  'un  !  That  chap's  a  case,  I'll  promise.  Tell  you  what,  SheILn 
ll;iig  in  that  chap,  and  I'll  settle  the  business.  Come,  now,  if  lha 
im't  doing  the  thing  up  about  the  Tightest! 

P.LIZA  enters  R.  H. — Starts  on  beholding  HALEY,  and  gazes  fearfui.li 
at  HARRT.  who  runs  and  clings  to  her  drew,  showing  the  orangt 
tc. 

Sfiet.  Well,  Eliza  7 

Eliza.  I  was  looking  for  Harry,  please,  sir. 
SkeL   Well,  take  him  away,  then. 

£I<IIA  graspt  the  child  eagerly  in  her  arms,  and  casting  a*o&« 
glance  of  apprehension  at  HALBY,  exits  hastily,  R.  a. 

Hal.  By  Jupiter !  there's  an  article,  now.  You  might  make  you 
fortune  on  that  ar  gal  in  Orleans  any  day.  I've  seen  t  ver  a  thousand 
a  my  day,  paid  down  for  gals  not  a  bit  handsomer. 

Shrl.  I  don't  want  to  make  my  fortune  on  her.  Another  g  ass  o 
wine.  [Fills  the  glatse^ 

Hal.  [Drinks  and  tmacks  his  lip*.]  Capital  wine — firs',  chop 
Jome,  how  will  you  trade  about  the  gal  1  What  shall  I  say  lor  her  • 
«f  hat'll  you  take  1 

Sktl  Mr  4<i)«v,  she  is  not  to  be  sold.  My  wife  wouldn't  part  *i;t 
>'*^  t'oi  he"  wwii/Li  in  jiolii 


TOM'S  CABIB. 

Hal.  Ay,  ay  I  women  always  say  such  things,  'caus<  »i,0\  Lam  t  in. 
r>rt  of  calculation.  Just  show  'em  how  many  watches,  feathers  aud 
trinkets  one's  weight  in  gold  would  buy,  and  that  alters  the  caso  ) 
reckon. 

Skel  I  tell  you  Haley,  this  must  not  be  spoken  of— I  say  no,  and 
!  mean  no. 

Hal.  Well,  you'll  let  me  have  the  boy  tho' ;  you  masi  own  that  I 
have  come  down  pretty  handsomely  for  him. 

Shel.  What  on  earth  can  you  want  with  the  child  1 

Hal.  Why,  I've  got  a  friend  that's  going  into  this  yer  branch  of  tin 
business — wants  to  buy  up  handsome  boys  to  raise  for  the  market 
Well,  what  do  you  say  1 

Shel  I'll  think  the  matter  over  and  talk  with  mv  wife. 

Ha)  Oh,  certainly,  by  all  means  ;  but  I'm  in  u  devil  of  a  hurry 
and  sball  want  to  know  as  soon  as  possible,  what  I  may  depend  on. 

[Rise   and  puts  )n  his  overcoat,  which  hangs  on  a  chair. — Takes  hat 
and  whip. 

Sh*l.  Well,  call  up  this  evening,   between  six  and   seven,   and  yon 

have  my  answer. 
Hni.  All  right.     Take  care  of  yourself,  old  boy  !          [Exit  L.  a. 
Shel.  If  anybody  had  ever  told  me  that  I  should  sell  Tom  to  those 
fiscally  traders,  I  should  never  have  believed  it.     Now  it  must  coma 
for  aught  I  see,  and  Eliza's  child  too.     So  much   for  being    in   debt, 
heigho  !     The  fellow  sees  his  advantage  and  means  to  push  it. 

[Exit*    H. 

80ENE  III. — Snowy  landscape. — UNCLE  TOM'S  Cabin,  L.  u.  E. — Sno* 
cm  roof. — Practicable  door  and  window. — Dark  Stage. — Music 

Enter  ELIZA  hastily,  R.  n.  B.  with  HARRY  in  htr  arms. 

Eliza  My  poor  boy  !  they  have  sold  you,  but  your  mother  will 
•<ave  you  yet ! 

\(}o*t  to  Cabin  and  taps  on  window. — AUNT  CHLOB   appears  at  win 
dow  with  a  large  white  night-cap  on. 

Vhloe.  Good  Lord !  what's  that  7  My  sakes  alive  if  it  ain't  Lizy  ' 
9et  on  your  clothes,  old  man,  quick  !  I'm  gwinc,  to  open  the  door. 

*ht  door  opens  and  CHLOE  enters  followed  by  UNCLE  Toil  in  hts  *Ain 
sleeves  holding  a  tallow  candle. — TOM  crosses  to  c. 

Tom.  c.  [Holding  the  light  towards  ELIZA.]  Lord  bless  you \  1'nt 
ikeered  to  look  at  ye,  Li^y  !  Are  ye  tuck  sick,  or  what's  comi 
•>Ter  ye  1 

Eliza.  [R.]  I'm  running  away,  Uncle  Tom  and  Aunt  Ghlon,  curry 
ing  off  my  child  !  Master  sold  him  ! 

Tom  and  Chlot.  [L.]  Sold  him  ! 

Eltza.  Yes,  sold  him  !     I  crept  into  the   closet   by   mistress'   do 
<  aight  and  heard  nmsrei  tell  nr>istr«sa  that  he  had  «r>'d   my    Ham 


TOM  ft    CABIN 

*nd  joa,  Uncle  Tern,  both,  •/»  a  trader,  and  that  the  i.ah  wa»  »c  Wto 
possessson  to-morrow. 

C%Zo«.  The  good  lord  have  pity  on  us  !  Oh  !  it  don't  seem  as  if  11 
was  true  What  has  he  done  that  master  should  sell  htm  1 

Eliza.  He  hasn't  done  anything — it  isn't  for  that.  Master  don't 
•rant  to  sell,  and  mistress — she's  always  good.  I  heard  her  plead  atd 
beg  for  us.  but  he  told  her  'twas  no  use — that  he  was  in  this  man't 
debt,  and  he  had  got  the  power  over  him,  and  ihat  if  he  did  not  pay 
aim  oft' clear,  it  would  end  in  his  having  to  sell  the  plaoe  and  all  th« 
people  and  move  off. 

Chlce.  Well,  old  man,  why  don't  you  run  away,  tool  Will  you 
wait  to  be  toted  down  the  river,  where  they  ki'.l  niggers  with  hard 
work  and  starving  1  I'd  a  heap  rattier  die  than  go  there,  any  day  ! 
There's  time  for  ye,  be  off  with  Lizy — you've  got  a  pass  to  come 
and  go  any  time.  Come,  bustle  up,  and  I'll  get  your  things  to 
gether. 

Tom.  No,  no— I  ain't  going.  Lot  Eliza  go — it's  her  right  I 
wouldn  t  be  the  one  to  say  no — t'aint  in  natur  for  her  to  stay  ;  but 
you  heard  what  she  said  1  If  I  must  be  sold,  or  all  the  people  ot 
the  place,  and  everything  «o  to  rack,  why,  let  me  be  sold.  I  s'pose  I 
can  bar  it  as  well  as  any  one.  Mas'r  always  found  me  on  the  spot — 
he  always  will.  I  never  have  broken  trust,  nor  used  my  pass  no  ways 
contrary  to  my  word,  and  I  never  will.  It's  better  for  me  to  go  alone, 
than  to  break  up  the  place  and  sell  all.  Mas'r  ain't  to  blame,  and 
rie'll  take  care  of  you  and  the  poor  little  'nns  !  [Overcome. 

Chloe.  Now,  old  man,  what  is  you  gvvine  to  cry  for?  Does  you  want 
.o  break  this  old  woman's  heart  1  [Crying. 

Eliza.  I  saw  my  husband  only  this  afternoon,  and  I  little  knew 
then  what  was  to  come.  He  told  me  he  was  going  to  run  away.  Do 
try,  if  you  can,  to  get  word  to  him.  Tell  him  how  I  went  and  why  I 
went,  and  tell  him  I'm  going  to  try  and  find  Canada.  You  must  give 
my  love  to  him,  and  tell  him  if  I  never  see  b'm  again  on  earth,  I 
trust  we  shall  meet  in  heaven  ! 

Tom.  Dat  is  right,  Lizy ,  trust  in  the  Lord — he  is  our  best  frlend- 
our  only  comforter. 

Eliza.  You  won't  go  with  me,  Uncle  Tom  ? 

Tarn.  No  j  time  was  when  I  would,  but  the  Lord's  given  me  a  wcri 
mong  these  yer  poor  souls,  and  I'll  stay  with  'em  and  bear  my  cro« 
with  'em  till  the  end.     It's  different  with  you — it's  more'u  you  coald 
stand,  and  you'd  better  go  if  you  can. 

Eliza.  Uncle  Tom,  I'll  try  it ! 

Tom.  Amen  !  The  lord  help  ye  ! 

[Exit  ELIZA  and  HARRY,  B.  1  i 

Ckhe.  What  is  von  gwine  to  do,  old  rnanl  What's  to  becom*  c 
f  ou  ? 

Tom.  [Solemnly. \  Him  that  saved  Daniel  in  the  den  of  lions — ^ha> 
saved  the  children  in  the  fiery  furnace— Him  that  walked  <n  the  set 
ind  bade  the  winds  be  gtil' — He's  alive  yet !  and  I've  faith  tc  bell*"** 
to  can  deliver  mo 


Okie*.   V  -  HI  is  right,  old  man 

font.  The  Lord  is  good  unto  all  that  trust  him,  Chloe. 

\Exeuni  into  Cabin 

9CENE  IV. — Room  in  Tavern  by  the  river  nde. — A  larjevrindow  w 
flat,  through  which  the  river  is  seen,  JiVed  wit  i  floating  ice- — Moor, 
lijht. — Table  and  chairs  brought  on. 

Enter  PHINKAS,  L.  B. 

Phtneas.  Chaw  me  up  into  tobaccy  ends  !  how  in  the  name  of  al! 
that's  oiipossible  am  I  t<>  get  across  that  yer  pesky  river  1  It's  a 
•<?g'lar  blockade  of  ice  !  1  promised  Ruth  to  meet  her  to-night,  and 
Jie  11  be  into  my  bar  if  I  don't  come.  [Qoes  to  window.}  Thar's  a  con 
glomerated  prospect  for  a  loveyer!  What  in  creation's  to  be  done1 
That  thar  river  looks  like  a  permiscuous  ice-cream  shop  come  to  ac 
awful  state  of  friz.  If  1  war  on  the  adjacent  bank,  I  wouldn't  care  a 
teetotal  atom.  Rile  up,  you  old  varmint,  and  shake  the  ice  off  your 
back! 

Enter  EUEA  and  HARRY,  L.  H. 

Eliza.  Courage,  my  boy — we  have  reached  the  river.  Let  it  but 
roll  between  us  and  our  pursuers,  and  we  are  safe  !  [Goes  to  window.] 
Gracious  powers  !  the  river  is  choked  with  cakes  cf  ice  ! 

Phin.  Holloa,  gal  ! — what's  the  matter  1  You  look  kind  of 
streaked. 

Eliza    Is  there  any  ferry  or  boat  tnat  t*kes  people  over  now  1 

Phin.   Well.  I  guess  not;  the  boats  hav*  stopped  running. 

Eliza.  \Indismay.]  Stopped  running  1 

Phin.  Maybe  you're  wanting  to  get  over  -anybody  sick  1  Ye  seen; 
mighty  anxious. 

Eliza.  I — I — I've  got  a  child  that's  very  dangerous.  I  never  heard 
of  it  till  last  night,  and  I've  walked  quite  a  distance  to-day,  in  hopei 
to  get  to  the  ferry 

Phin.  Well,  now,  that's  onlucky  ;  I'm  re'lly  cor.sarned  for  ye. 
Thar  s  a  man,  a  piece  down  here,  that's  going  over  with  some  truck 
this  evening,  if  he  duss  to ;  he'll  be  in  here  to  supper  to-night,  M 
you'd  better  set  down  and  wait.  That's  a  smar'  little  chap.  Say 
young  'un,  have  a  chaw  tobaccy  ? 

[Takes  out  a largi plug  anil  a   bowie-knife. 

Eliza.  No,  no !  not  any  for  him. 

Phin.  Oh!  he  don't  use  it.  eh  1  Hain't  come  to  it  yet?  Well  I 
Lave.  [Cuts  off  a  large  piece,  and  returns  the  pluq  and  knifi  tt 
•pocket.}  What's  the  matter  with  the  young  'un  1  H«  looks  kind  ^. 
rhite  in  the  gills  ! 

Eliza.  Poor  fellow  !  he  is  not  used  to  walking,  and  I  v«  hurried  nin 

MI  BO. 

Phin  Tuckerd.  eh  1  Well,  there's  a  little  room  then?,  with  a  flit 
'f\  it.  Take  the  babby  in  there,  make  yourself  comfortable  til!  tbw 
ttiar  ferryman  shows  his  countenance — I'll  stand  the  damage. 

fStxa.   HIW  shall  I  thank  von  f<-  such  kindness  to  a  s'.rangp^  1 


nSCLl    TOM'h    OAftd 

Well,  if  you  don't  know  how,  why,  dcn't  ir>  ,  th*t'i  tu 
teetotal.     Come,  vamose  !  [Exit  ELIZA,  and  HABHT,  R.  H.  n. 

Phin  Chaw  me  into  sassage  meat,  if  that  ain't  a  perpendicular  flnt 
gal  !  she's  a  rcg'lar  A  No.  1  sort  of  female  !  How  'n  thunder  am  I  U 
get  across  this  refrigerated  stream  of  water  ?  I  can't  wait  for  that 
ferryman. 

Enter  MARKS,  L.  a. 

ftalloa  '  what  sort  of  a  critter's  this  1  [Advance*.]  Say,  sfanger,  wfli 
you  have  something  to  drink? 

Marks.  You  are  excessively  kind  :  I  don't  care  if  I  do. 

Phtn.  Ah  !  he's  a  human  Holloa,  thar!  bring  us  a  jug  of  whisky 
.iistantaneously,  or  expect  to  be  teetotally  chawed  up !  Squat  your 
self,  stranger,  and  go  in  for  enjoyment  \They  sit  at  table]  Who  arc 
you,  and  what's  your  name  1 

Marks.  I  am  a  lawyer,  and  my  name  is  Marks. 

Phin.  A  land  shark,  eh  1  Well,  I  don't  think  no  worse  on  yon  for 
ihat.  The  law  is  a  kind  of  necessary  evil ;  and  it  breeds  lawyeri 
lust  as  an  old  stump  does  fungus.  Ah  !  here's  the  whisky. 

Enter   WAITEB,   mth  jug  and  tumblers,    L.    H. — Places    them  m» 

tablt. 

Here,  yon — take  that  shin-plaster.  [Gives  bill.]  I  don't  want  any 
change-— thar's  a  gal  stopping  in  that  room — the  balance  will  pay  foi 
her— d'ye  hear  7 — vamose!  [Exit  WAITER,  L.  H. — Fills  glass.]  Take 
hold,  neighbor  Marks — don't  shirk  the  critter.  Here's  hoping  youi 
path  of  true  love  may  never  have  an  ice-choked  river  to  cross  ! 

[They  drink. 

Harks.  Want  to  cross  the  river,  eh  1 

Phin.  Well,  I  do,  stranger.  Fact  is,  I'm  in  .ove  with  the  teetotal 
1st  pretty  girl,  over  on  the  Ohio  t^ie,  that  ever  wore  a  Quaker  bonnet 
Take  tuiother  swig,  neighbor.  [Fillt  glasses,  and  they  drink. 

JMvrks.  A  Quaker,  eh  1 

Phin.  Yes — kind  of  strange,  ain't  if?  The  way  of  it  was  this: — 1 
ased  to  own  a  grist  of  niggers — had  'em  to  work  on  my  plantation,  ju»i 
below  here.  Well,  stranger,  do  you  know  I  fell  in  with  that  gal— of 
course  I  was  considerably  smashed — knocked  into  a  pretty  conglome 
rated  heap — and  I  told  her  so.  She  said  (he  wouldn't  hear  •  word 
from  me  so  long  as  I  owned  a  nigger ! 

Marks.  You  sold  them,  I  suppose  1 

Phin.  You're  teetotally  wrong,  neighbor.  I  gave  them  al)  theb 
freedom,  and  told  'em  to  vamose  ! 

Marks.  Ah  !  yes — very  noble,  I  dare  say  but  rather  expensive 
This  act  won  you  your  lady-love,  eh  1 

Phin.  You're  off  the  track  again,  neighbor.  She  felt  kind  of  pleas 
«d  about  it,  and  smiled,  and  all  that ;  but  she  said  she  could  never  w 
mine  unless  I  turned  Quaker  !  Thunder  and  earth  !  what  do  you  think 
i»f  that  7  You're  a  lawyer — come,  now,  what's  your  opinion  1  }-»n%' 
rou  call  it  a  knotty  point  ' 


PWCL8     TUto'H    OAKI.N. 

t.  Most  decidedly.     Of  course  you  refused. 

Pkin.  Teetotally  ;  but  she  told  me  to  think  better  of  it,  and  «om« 
io-night  and  give  her  my  final  conclusion.  Chaw  me  into  niino* 
i«ieat,  if  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  to  do  it ! 

Marks.  You  astonish  me ! 

P*w.  Well,  you  see,  I  can't  get  along  without  that  gal ; — she's  sort 
.1  fixed  my  flint,  and  I'm  sure  to  hang  fire  without  her.  I  know  1 
^hall  make  a  queer  sort  of  Quaker,  because  you  see  neighbor,  I  aint 
precisely  the  kind  of  material  to  make  a  Quaker  out  of 

Marks    No,  not  exactly. 

rhin  Well,  I  can't  stop  no  longer.  I  must  try  to  get  across  that 
•andaverous  river  some  way.  It's  getting  late — take  care  of  yourself, 
leighbor  lawyer.  I'm  a  teetotal  victim  to  a  pair  of  black  eyes 
Chaw  me  up  to  feed  hogs,  if  I'm  not  in  a  ruinatious  state ! 

[Exit  L.  H. 

Marks.  Queer  genius,  that,  very  ! 

Enter  TOM  LOKER,  L.  H. 

So  you've  come  at  last. 
Loker.  Yes.  [Looks  into  jug.}  Empty!     Waiter!  more  whisky! 

WAITER  enters,  L.  H.,  with  juj,  and  removes  the  empty  one. — Entet 
HALEY,  L.  H. 

Hal.  By  the  land  !  if  this  yer  ain't  the  nearest,  now,  to  what  I've 
teard  people  call  Providence!  Why,  Loker,  how  are  ye? 

Loker.  The  devil !     What  brought  you  here,  Haley  1 

Hal  [Sitting  at  table.]  I  say,  Tom,  this  yer's  the  luckiest  thing  5n 
the  world.  I'm  in  a  devil  of  a  hobble,  and  you  must  help  me  out ! 

Loker.  Ugh  !  aw  !  like  enough.  A  body  may  be  pretty  sure  of 
ihat  when  you're  glad  to  see  'em,  or  car.  make  something  off  of  'em. 
rf  hat's  the  blow  now  1 

Hal.   You've  got  a  friend  here — partner,  perhaps  1 

Loker.  Yes,  I  have.  Here,  Marks — here's  that  ar  fellow  that  I  wa« 
with  in  Natchez. 

Marks.  [  Grasping  HALEY'S  hand.]  Shall  be  pleased  with  his  ac 
quaintance.  Mr.  Ha'.ey,  I  believe  7 

Hal.  The  same,  sir,  The  fact  is,  gentlemen,  this  morning  I  bought 
a.  young  'un  of  Shelby  up  above  here.  His  mother  got  wind  of  it,  and 
«vha»  does  she  do  but  cut  her  lucky  with  him ;  and  I'm  afraid  ry  thii 
'ime  that  she  has  crossed  the  river,  for  I  tracked  her  to  this  very  place, 

Marks.  So,  then,  ye're  fairly  sewed  up,  ain't  ye  1  He  !  he !  he  ' 
It's  neatly  done,  too. 

Hal.  This  young  'un  business  makes  lots  of  trouble  in  the  trade. 

Marks.  Now,  Mr.  Haley,  what  is  it  7  Do  you  want  us  to  undertake 
>o  catch  this  gal  1 

Hal.  The  gal's  no  matter  of  mine — she's  Shelby's — it's  on'y  the 
•wy.  I  was  a  fool  for  buying  the  monkey. 

Ixiker.  You're  generally  a  fool ! 

Marks.  Come  now,  Loker,  none  of  your  huffs  ;  you  see,  Mr.  IHlej'i 
vouttir. '  us  in  a  way  of  a  good  job.  I  reckon  :  just  hold  still-  -tbes* 


11  0VCLB    TOM  B    CA*IS. 

r»i    arrangemeijift   ..re   jiy  forte.     This  yer  gal,  Mr.  Haley — how  « 
ihe  t — what  is   she  ? 

[ELIZA  ajtpears,  with    HARRT,  R.  H.  P.,  listening. 

fled.  Well,  white  and  handsome — well  brousht  up.  I'd  have  give* 
8l:elby  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand,  and  then  made  well  on  her. 

Marks.  White  and  handsome — well  brought  up  !  Look  here,  now 
L«>ker  a  benutiful  opening.  We'll  do  a  business  here  on  our  own  ac 
Kwiai.  We  does  the  catchin' ;  the  boy,  of  course,  goes  to  Mr.  Hale; 
— *e  takes  the  gal  to  Orleans  to  speculate  >n.  Ain't,  it  beautiful  1 

I  They  confer  together. 

Eliza.  Powers  of  mercy,  p'oi.ect  me!  How  shall  I  escape  these 
human  blood-hounds'?  Ah!  ihe  window — the  river  of  ice!  That 
dark  stream  lies  between  me  and  liberty  !  Surely  the  ice  will  beat 
my  tn fling  weight.  It  is  my  only  chance  of  escape — better  sink  be- 
Death  the  cold  wrV\  <x\t\\  my  child  locked  in  my  arms,  than  '»avt 
him  torn  from  ti.  and  sold  into  bondage.  He  sleeps  upon  my  L.eai1 
—Heaven,  1  pu.  .iy  trust  in  thee  !  [Oets  out  of  windou.. 

Marks.  Well,  IV m  Loker,  what  do  you  say  1 

Loker.  It'll  do  : 

'Strikes  his  hand  violently  on  the  table. — ELIZA  screams. —  They  at\ 
start  to  their  feet. — ELIZA  disappears. — Music,  chord. 

ffal.    By    the    land,  there   she  is  now  ! 

[  They  all  rush  to  the  window. 

Maria.  She's  making  for  the  river  ! 

Loker.  Let's  after  her  ! 

[Music. — They  all  leap  through  the  window. — Change- 

SCENE  V. — Snow  Landscape. — Music. 
Enter  ELIZA,  with  HARRT,  hurriedly,  L.  1  B. 
Kliza.   They  press  upon  my  footsteps — the  river  is  my  only  hope 
Heaven  grant  me  strength  to  reach  it.  ere  they  overtake  me !     Cou, 
age,  my  child  ! — we  will  be  free — or  perish  ! 

[Rushes  off,  R.  H. — Music  continued. 
Enter  LOKBR,  HALBT  and  MARKS,  L.  1  B. 
Hal.  We'll  catch  her  yet ;  the  river  will  stop  her  ! 
Marks.  No,  it  won't,  for  look  !  she  has  jumped  upon  the  ice  !    She'i 
t  brave  gal,  anyhow  ! 
Loker.  She'll  be  drowned  ! 

Hal.  Curse  that  young  'un  !     I  shall  lose  him,  after  all 
Loker.  Come  on,  Marks,  to  the  ferry  ! 
Hal.  Aye,  to  the  ferry  ! — a  hundred  dollars  for  a  boa*  ! 

Music. —  They  rush  of,  R.  H. 

9CENE  VI. — The  entire  depth  of  stage,  representing  the  Ohio  River 

filed  with  Floanng  fee. — Set  bank  on  R.  H.  and  in  front- 
^LIIA  appears,  with  HARRT,  a.  H.,  on  a  cake  of  ice,  and  floats  tlowlf 

meross  to  L.  e. — HALBT,  LOK^B  **./  MAKVB.  on  bank   R.  H..  oi**r» 

M»«T. — PHINBAB  on  off 


nroui  TOM'S  •ABU.  i« 

ACT    II. 

SCENE  I.— A  Handiome  Parlor 
MARIE  discovered  rechning  on  a  sofa,  R.a. 

[Looking  at  a  note.}  What  ran  possibly  detain  St.  Clan 
According  to  this  notQ  he  should  have  been  here  a  fortnight  Age 
.  ffoite  of  earriaqe  without.]  I  do  believe  he  lias  come  at  last. 

EVA  rum  in,  i.  1  K. 

Eva.  Mamma ! 

[Throws  her  arms  around  MARIE'S  neck,  and  kisses  her. 
Marie.  That  will  do — take  care,  child — don't  you  make  my  heao 
ache  !  [Kisses  her  languidly. 

Enttr  ST.  CLARK,  OPHELIA,  and  TOM,  nicely  dressed,  L.  1  B. 

St.  Clare.  Well,  my  dear  Marie,  here  we  are  at  last.  The  wan 
derers  have  arrived,  you  see.  Allow  me  to  present  my  cousin,  Mis* 
Ophelia,  who  is  about  to  undertake  the  office  of  our  housekeeper. 

Marie.  [Rising  to  a  sitting  posture.}  I  an*  delighted  to  see  you 
How  do  you  like  the  appeaiance  of  our  city  1 

Eva.  [Running  to  OPHELIA.]  Oh!  is  it  not  beautiful?  My  owr 
darling  home  ! — is  it  not  beauriful  1 

Ophelia.  Yes,  it  is  a  pretty  place,  though  it  looks  rather  old 
and  heathenish  to  me. 

St.  C.  Tom,  my  boy,  this  seems  to  suit  you  1 

Tom.  Yes,  mas'r.  it  looks  about  the  right  thing. 

St.  C.  See  here,  Marie,  I've  brought  you  H  coachman,  at  last,  t« 
order.  I  tell  you,  he  is  a  regular  hearse  for  blackness  and  sobriety 
and  will  drive  you  like  a  funeral,  if  you  wish.  Open  your  eyes 
now,  and  look  at  him.  Now,  don't  say  I  never  think  about  you  whei 
I'm  gone. 

Marie.  I  know  he'll  get  drunk. 

St.  C.  Oh!  no  he  won't.  He's  warranted  a  pious  and  sobej 
urticle. 

Marie.  Well,  I  hope  he  may  turn  out  well ;  it's  more  than  1  ex 
pect,  though. 

St.  C,  Have  you  no  curiosity  to  learn  how  and  where  I  picked 
op  Tom. 

Eva.   Unde  Tom,  papa ;  that's  his  name. 

St.  C.  Right,  my  little  sunbeam ! 

Tom.  Please,  mas'r,  that  ain't  no  'easier,  to  say  nothing  boai 
me. 

St.  C.  You  are  too  modest,  my  modern  Hannibal.  Do  you  know 
Marie,  that  our  little  Eva  took  a  fancy  to  Uncle  Tom — whom  »•« 
net  on  board  the  steamboat — and  persuaded  me  to  b^y  hin>  ' 

Mint    Ah  !  she  is  to  odd 


14  SSCLB    TOM't    3ABI» 

St.  C.  As  we  approached  the  landing,  a  sudden  -ash  cl  the  pu 
«mgers  precipitated  Eva  into  the  water — 

Marie.  Gracious  heavens! 

St.  C.  A  man  leaped  into  the  river,  and,  as  she  rose  to  the  sur 
"ace  of  the  water,  grasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  held  ter  up  unti 
le  could  be  drawn  on  thf  boat  again.  Who  was  that  man,  L'va' 

5»a.   Uncle  Tom  ! 

[Runt  to  him. — He  lifts  her  in  hit  arms. — She  kisses  him. 

Ton    The  dear  soul ! 

Oph.  [Astonished.]  How  shiftless ! 

St.  C    [Overhearing  her.  j  What's  the  matter  now,  pray  1 

Oph.  Well.  1  want  to  be  kind  to  everybody,  and  I  wouldn't  hav« 

»ve  anything  hurt,  but  as  to  kissing — 

Sit  C.  Niggers  !  that  you're  not  up  to,  hey  ? 

Oph.  Yes,  that's  it — how  can  she  \ 

St.  C    Oh !  bless  you.  it's  nothing  when  you  are  used  to  it  t 

Oph.  I  could  never  be  so  shiftless ! 

Eva.  Come  with  me,  Uncle  Tom,  and  I  will  show  you  about  tin 
touse.  [Crosses to  B.  H.  with  TOM. 

Tom.  Can  I  go,  mas'r  ? 

St.  C.  Yes,  Tom;  she  is  your  little  mistress — your  only  duty  wil" 
•«e  to  attend  to  her  !  Ton  bows  and  exits,  B  1  B. 

Marie.  Eva,  my  dear ! 

Eva.  Well,  mamma  1 

Wane.  Do  not  exert  yourself  too  much  ! 

Era.   No,  mamma  !  [Runt  out,  B.  H 

Oph.  [Lifting  up  her  hands.  \  How  shiftless  ! 

*T.    CLARE    sit*  next  to    MARIB  on  sofa. — OPHBLIA   next   to    tit 
CLAKE. 

St.  C.  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  Uncle  Tom,  Marie  1 

Marie.  He  is  a  perfect  behemoth ! 

St.  C.  Come,  now,  Marie,  be  gracious,  and  say  something  pretty  tt 
i  fellow  ! 

Marie.  You've  been  gone  a  fortnight  beyond  the  time  ! 

St-  C.  Well,  you  know  1  wrote  you  the  reason. 

Marie.   Such  a  short,  cold  letter  ! 

St.  C  Dear  me  !  the  mail  wag  just  going,  and  it  had  to  be  that  o1 
it  thing. 

Marie.  That's  just  the  way  ;  always  something  to  make  your  jour 
»eys  long  and  letters  short! 

St.  C  Look  at  this.  [Takes  an  elegant  velvet  case  from  hispoclttt.} 
jlere's  a  present  I  got  for  you  in  New  York — a  Daguerreotype  of  En 
ind  myself. 

Marie.  [  Loolu  ai  with  a  \t  dissatisfied  air.]  What  made  you  jit  ii 
inch  un  awkward  position  7 

St.  C.  Well,  the  position  may  be  a  matter  of  opinior  but  what  tl* 
roo  t^Uik  of  the  likeness  '< 


CVCLB   TOM'ft    OAB1S  It 

Mant.  (Cto$intj  the  case  snappishly. \  If  you  don  .  think  a^ymln^ 
»f  my  opinion  in  one  case,  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  in  another 

Oph-   [Sententiously,  aside. J  How  shiftless  ! 

<8f.  C.  Hang  the  woman !  Come,  Marie,  what  do  you  th::_k  of  thf 
likeness  1  Don't  be  nonsensical  now. 

Marie.  It's  very  inconsiderate  of  you,  St.  Clare,  to  insist  on  iu> 
.atking  and  looking  at  things.  You  know  I'vebeen  lyingall  day  witV 
he  sick  headache,  and  there's  been  such  a  tumult  ma<le  ever  sine* 
ftu  came,  I'm  half  dead! 

(>ph>  You're  subject  to  the  sick  headache,  ma'am  '« 

\lai\e.   Yes,  I'm  a  perfect  martyr  to  it ! 

Oph.  Juniper-berry  tea  is  goon  for  sick  head-ache  ;  ut  least,  Mo) 
;y,  Deacon  Abraham  Perry's  wife,  used  to  say  so;  and  slie  was  a  groa 
nurse. 

St.  C.  I'll  have  the  first  juniper-berries  that  get  ripe  in  our  garde. 
by  the  lake  brought  in  for  that  especial  purpose.  Come,  cousin,  let 
us  take  a  stroll  in  the  garden.  Will  you  join  us,  Marie  1 

Marie.  I  wonder  how  you  can  ask  such  a  question,  when  you  know 
how  fragile  I  am.  I  shall  retire  to  my  chamber,  u.d  repose  till  <lin- 
aer  time.  [ Exit  R.  '2,  K. 

Oph.  [Looking  after  her. I  How  shiftless  ! 

St.C.  Come,  cousin  !  [A$  he  goet  out.\  Look  o«»l  for  the  babies  !  I) 
I  step  upon  any  body,  let  them  mention  it. 

(tpk.  Babies  under  foot!     How  shiftless  !  [Exeunt  L.  1  K 


SCENE  II— 4  Garden 

TOM  discovered,  seated  on  a  bank,  R.  v.  K.,  with  EVA  on  his  knee— 
kit  button-holes  are  filed  with  flowers,  ana  ETA  u  hanging  a 
wreath  around  his  neck.  Music  at  opening  of  scene.  Enter  ST 
I'LAIJB  and  OPHELIA,  L.  0.  B.,  observing, 

Eva.  Oh,  Tom  !  yon  look  so  funny. 

Tom.  [Sees  ST.  CLARE  and  puts  EVA  aown.]  I  bess  pardon,  mas'r 
but  the  young  missis  would  do  it.  Look  yer,  I'm  like  the  ox,  men 
lioned  in  the  good  book,  dressed  for  the  sacrifice. 

St.  C.  I  say,  what  do  you  think,  Pussy  1  Which  do  yon  like  '.L» 
best — to  live  as  they  do  at  your  unc'e's,  up  in  Vermont,  or  x  har*  F 
bouse-full  of  servants,  as  we  do  ? 

Eva.  Oh  !  of  course  our  way  is  the  pleasantest. 

St.  C.  [Patting  her  head.]  Why  so  1 

Eva.  Because  it  makes  so  many  more  round  you  to  love  fro 
know. 

Ofh.  Now,  that's  just  like  Eva— just  one  of  her  odd  speeches 

Btn.  Is  it  an  odd  speech,  papa  1 

St.  C.  Rathei,  as  this  world  goes,  Pussy.  But  where  has  my  lht,,k 
Eva  been  1 

Ska.  Oh  !  I've  been  up  in  Tom's  room,  hearing  hiai  sing 

St.  C.  Hearing  Tom  sing,  hey  '» 


TOM  k  OA»n. 

Eta  OL,  yesl  he  sings  such  beaAtiful  things,  about  the  ^ew  J«n> 
ialem,  %nd  bright  angels,  and  the  land  of  Canaan. 

St.  C.  I  dare  say  ;  it's  better  than  the  opera,  isn't  it  1 

Eva.  Yes ;  and  he's  going  to  teach  them  to  me 

St.  C.  Singing;  lessons,  hey  ''     You  are  coming  on. 

Eva.  Yes,  he  sings  for  me,  and  I  read  to  him  iu  my  Bible,  ar  i  h« 
«plains  what  it  means  Come,  Tom. 

[She  takes  his  hand  and  they  exit,  R.  u.  B. 

&  0  [Aside.]  Oh,  Evaiiiieli  e!  RigbUy  named  ;  hath  not  he* 
'•an  made  thee  an  evangel  to  me  7 

Oph.  How  shiftless  !     How  can  yon  let  her  1 

St.  C.  Why  notl 

Oph    Why,  I  don't  know  ;  it  seems  so  dreadful. 

St.  C.  You  would  think  no  harm  in  a  child's  carressing  a  large  dog 
even  if  he  was  black  ;  hut  a  creature  that  can  think,  reason  and  feel 
and  is  immortal,  you  shudde.  at.  Confess  it,  cousin.  I  know  th« 
feelinti  among  some  of  you  Northerners  well  enough.  Not  that  there 
is  a  particle  of  virtue  in  our  not  having  it,  but  custom  with  us  does 
what  Christianity  ought  to  do  :  obliterates  the  feeling  of  personal 
prejudice.  You  loathe  them  as  you  would  a  snake  or  a  toad,  yet  you 
are  indignant  at  their  wrongs.  You  would  not  have  them  abused 
but  you  don't  want  to  have  any  thing  to  do  with  them  yourselves.  Isi.  t 
that  it  1 

Oph.  Well,  cousin,  there  may  be  some  truth  in  this. 

St.  C.  What  would  the  poor  and  lowly  do  without  children  1  Youi 
little  child  is  your  only  true  democrat.  Tom,  now,  is  a  hero  to  Eva  ; 
his  stories  are  wonders  in  her  eyes  ;  his  songs  and  Methodist  hymns 
are  better  than  an  opera,  and  the  traps  and  little  bits  of  trash  i;i  hi* 
pockets  a  mine  of  jewels,  and  he  the  most  wonderful  Tom  that  evei 
wore  a  black  skin.  This  is  one  of  the  roses  of  Eden  that  the  Lord 
has  dropped  down  expressly  for  the  poor  and  lowly,  who  get  few 
enough  of  any  other  kind. 

Oph  It's  strange,  cousin  ;  one  might  almost  think  you  was  a  pro 
ftssor,  to  hear  you  talk. 

St.  C.  A  professor  1 

Oph.  Yes,  a  professor  of  religion. 

S<.  C.  Not  at  all ;  not  a  professor  as  yov  towt  folk*  hare  it,  and, 
A  hat  is  worse,  I'm  afraid,  not  &  practicer,  either. 

Oph.  What  makes  you  talk  so,  then  t 

St.  C.  Nothing  is  easier  than  talking.  My  forte  lie?  in  talking,  an  j 
/r>urs  cousin,  lies  in  doing.  And  speaking  of  that  puts  lie  in  mind 
hat  I  have  made  a  purchase  for  your  department.  There >  the  arti 
Je  now  Here,  Topsy  '  [  Wkistk*. 

TOPST  rvnt  on.  L,  c.  K.,  do**  c. 

Opk.  Gkxxl  gracious  '  what  a  heathenish,  shiftles*  looking  object 
8'..  Clare,  what  in  the  world  hav«  you  bright  that  thing  here  tor  7 

8t.  C.  For  you  to  educate,  to  be  sure,  and  tra'n  in  the  way  sh» 
•Lou'.d  go.  1  thought  she  was  rather  a  funny  specimen  in  the  Jiit 


OHCLK  TOM'S  CAB:* 

Jrow  line      Here,  Topsey,  give  us  a  song,  and  slio  «  us  »<  rue  of  yew 
iai.clng.  [ToPSY  sings  a,  verse  and  dances  a  breakdown 

Oph.  [Paralyzed.]  Well,  of  all  tilings  !     If  I  ever  .-saw  the  like  ! 

St.  C.  [Smothering  a  laugh.]  Topsy,  this   is  yuiir  new  niiatress- 
I'm  going  to  give  you  up  to  her.     See  now  that  you  behave  yourse." 

Top.   Yes,  inas'r. 

St.  C.  You're  going  to  be  good,  Topsy,  you  understand  1 

Top.  Oh,  yes,  mas'r. 

Oph.  Now,  St.  Clare,  whai  upon  earth  is  this  for  1  Your  house  t 
«o  full  .)f  these  plagues  now,  that  a  body  can't  set  down  their  foci 
(FTohout  treading  on  'em.  I  get  up  in  the  morning  and  find  one  as  I**;! 
behind  the  door,  and  see  one  black  head  poking  out  from  under  th« 
table — one  lying  on  the  door  mat,  and  they  are  moping  and  mowing 
tnd  grinning  between  all  the  railings,  and  tumbling  over  the  kitcher 
floor  !  What  on  earth  did  you  waitt  to  bring  this  one  lor  < 

St.  C.  For  you  to  educate — did'nt  I  tell  you  1  You're  always 
preaching  about  educating,  I  thought  I  would  make  you  a  present  ol 
a  fresh  caught  specimen,  and  let  you  try  your  hand  on  her  and  bring 
her  up  in  the  way  she  should  go. 

Oph.  I  don't  want  her,  I  am  sure ;  I  have  more  to  do  with  'em  now 
than  I  want  to. 

St.  C.  That's  you  Christians,  all  over.  You'll  get  up  a  society,  and 
get  some  poor  missionary  to  spend  all  his  days  among  just  such  hea 
then  ;  but  let  me  see  one  of  you  that  would  take  one  into  your  house 
with  you,  and  take  the  labor  of  their  conversion  upon  yourselves. 

Oph.  Well,  I  didn't  think  of  it  in  that  light.  It  might  be  a  real 
missionary  work.  Well.  I'll  do  what  I  can.  [Advances  to  TOPST.] 
She's  dreadful  dirty  and  shiftless!  How  old  are  you,  Topsy  ? 

Top.  Dunno,  missis. 

Oph.  How  shiftless  !  Don't  know  how  old  you  are  1  Didn't  any 
body  ever  tell  you  ?  Who  was  your  mother  1 

Top.  [  Grinning.}  Never  had  none. 

Oph.  Never  had  any  mother  1  What  do  you  mean  1  Where  waa 
you  born  ? 

Top.  Never  was  born. 

Oph.  You  musn't  answer  me  in  that  way.  I'm  not  playing  will 
you.  Tell  me  where  you  was  born,  and  who  your  father  and  n;cihe' 
were  I 

Top.  Never  was  born,  tell  you  ;  never  had  no  father,  nor  mother 
aor  nothin'.  I  war  raised  by  a  speculator,  with  *ots  of  others.  01 -J 
\unt  Sue  used  to  take  car  on  us. 

St.  C.  She  speaks  the  truth,  cousin.  Speculat  ,rs  buy  them  U( 
rheap,  when  they  are  little,  and  get  them  raised  for  the  market. 

Oph.  How  long  have  you  lived  with  your  mas'.9r  and  mistrep*  ' 

Top.   Dunno,  missis. 

Oph.  How  shiftless  !  Is  it  a  year,  or  more,  or  less? 

Top    Dunno,  missis. 

A.   C.  She  doe?  iot  know  whn'  «  year  is  ;  she  d  jn'i  •  ~ei    know  h« 


18  triOLi  tot'*  CABII 

OpA    jiav«-  you  «»er  iieard  anytuing  about hutveu,  Topsy  » 
We*  bewildered  and  grins.]   Do  you  know  who  made  you  ? 

Top.   Nobody,  as  1  knows  on,  he,  he.  he  !    I  sped  I  glowed. 
think  nobodj  never  made  me. 

Opk.  Tlie  shiftless  heathen  !  What  can  you  do  1  What  did  you  d« 
:-r  your  master  and  mistress  ? 

Top-  Fetch  water — and  wash  dishes — and  rub  knives — and  wait  oc 
>j-ks — and  dance  breakdowns. 

'~*ph.   I  shal".  break  down,  I'm  afraid,  in  trying  to  make  anything  r.z 

ti,  vou  shiftless  mortal  ! 

St.   C.  Yoa  find  virgin  soil  there,  cousin  ;    put  in  your  own  ide&£ 
on  wo'i't  rind  many  to  pull  up.  [Exit,  laughing  R.  1  E. 

Of-h.  '  Taken  out  her  handkerchief. — A  pair  of  gloves  falls. — TOPBT 
»:et-j  them  up  slyly  and  puts  them  in  her  sleeve.]  Follow  me,  you  be- 
•liglited  innocent ! 

Top     Yes.  missis 

'As  OPHKUA  turns  her  back  to  her,  she  seizes  the  end  of  the  ribbon 
she  wears  around  her  waist,  and  twitches  it  off. — OPHELIA  turnt 
and  sees  her  as  she  is  putting  \t  in  her  other  sleeve  — OPHELIA 
take!  rv:Jon  from.  her. 

Oph.  What's  this  1  You  naughty,  wicked  girl,  you've  been  stealing 
this  1 

Top  Laws  !  why,  that  ar's  missis'  ribbon,  a'nt  it?  How  could  it  goJ 
caught  in  iny  sleeve  ? 

Oph.  Topsy,  you  naughty  girl,  don't  you  tell  me  a  lie — you  stol« 
.hat  ribbon  ' 

Top.  Missis,  1  declare  for't,  I  didn't — never  seed  it  till  dis  yer  bles 
*ed  ininnit. 

Oph.  Topsy,  don't  you  know  it's  wicked  to  tell  lies! 

Top  I  never  tells  no  lies,  missis  ;  it's  just  de  truth  I've  been  tellin| 
now  and  nothing  else. 

Oph.  Topsy,  I  shall  have  to  whip  you,  if  you  tell  lies  so. 

Tnp  Laws  missis,  if  you's  to  whip  all  day,  couldn't  say  no  othei 
way.  I  never  seed  dat  ar — it  must  a  got  caught  in  my  sleeve. 

[Blubbtrt. 

Oph.  [Seizes  her  by  the  shoulders.]  Don't  you  tell  me  that  agaii. 
v<m  barefaced  fibber  !  [Shakes  her. —  The  gloves  fall  on  Stage  }  Ther 
,'ou,  my  gloves  too — you  outrageous  young  heathen  !  [P\tlu  thtm 
up.l  Will  you  te!l  me,  now,  you  didn't  steal  the  ribbon? 

Top.  No,  misses  ;  stole  de  gloves,  but  didn'  steal  de  ribbon.  II 
was  permiskus. 

Oph.  Why,  you  young  reprobate  ! 

Top.  Yes — I's  knows  I's  wicked! 

Oph.  Then  you  know  you  ought  to  be  punished.  [Bosut  ktr  tart.] 
What  no  you  think  of  that  ? 

Top    Fie.  he,  he!     De  Lord,  missus  ;  dat  wouldn't  kill  a  'skeetar 
Hunt  off  laughing   B.  o.  B. — OpH«UA/oQo»w  indignantly,  B  P   s 


PNCLK    TOM'S    CABIS  It 

III. —  The  Tavern  fry  the  River.  —  Table  a/it.  t*«.ir»  ~-Jug«itd 
glasses  an  tcMe.—  On  flat  is  a  printed  placard,  headed  : — "  Four 
Hundred  Dollars  Reward — Runaway — George  Harris  !•" 

PHINKAS  u  discovered ,  sealed  at  table. 

Phtn  80  \  er  I  am;  and  a  pretty  business  I've  undertook  to  do 
find  the  hnaband  of  the  gal  that  rros.Mjd  the  river  on  the  ice  two  v. 
;hree  days  ago.  Ruth  said  1  must  do  it,  and  I'll  be  toetotally  chawed 
;p  it  1  don't  do  it.  I  see  they've  offered  a  reward  for  him  dead  or 
ilive.  How  in  creation  am  I  to  find  the  varmint'!  He  isn't  likely  tc 
.M)  round  looking  natural,  with  a  full  description  of  his  hide  and  figure 
jiaring  him  in  the  face. 

Ente*  NJR.WiLsos,  L.  1   B. 

'  say,  stranger,  how  are  ye"i  '  Rises  and  comes  forward,   a 

mi.  Well,  I  reckon. 

Phin.   Any  news  7  |  Takes  out  plug  and  knife. 

Wil.   Not  that  1  know  of. 

Phin    {Cutting  a  piece  of  tobacco  and  offering  it.]  Chaw  1 

Wil.   No,  thank  ye — it  don't  agree  with  me. 

Phin.  Don't,  eh  7  {Putting  it  in  his  own  mouth.,  j  I  never  felt  am 
•  he  worse  for  it. 

Wil.  {Sees  placard.}  What's  that? 

Phin.  Nigger  advertised.  {Advances  towards  it  and  spits  on  it  j 
There's  my  mind  upon  that. 

Wil.   Why,  now  stranger,  what's  that  tor  1 

Phin.  Id  do  i*  al!  the  same  to  the  writer  of  that  ar  paper,  if  he 
was  here.  Any  man  that  owns  a  boy  like  that,  and  can't  find  any  bet 
ter  way  of  treating  him,  than  branding  him  on  the  hand  with  the  let 
ter  H,  as  that  pa;>er  states,  deserves  to  lose  him.  Such  papers  as  thi* 
ar'  a  i-hame  to  old  Kaintuck  !  that's  my  mind  right  out,  if  anytodj 
wants  to  know. 

Wil    Well,  now,  that's  a  fact. 

Phin,  I  used  to  have  a  gang  of  boys,  sir — that  was  before  I  fell  ii 
love — and  I  just  told  era  : — "  Boys,"  says  I,  "run  now  !  Dig!  pnt! 
jest  when  you  want  to.  I  never  shall  come  to  look  after  you  !"  Th*t  t 
the  way  I  kept  mine.  Let  'em  know  they  are  free  to  run  any  time, 
•"d  it  je.vt  stops  their  wanting  to.  It  stands  to  reason  it  should.  Trea< 
oio  like  men,  and  you'll  have  men's  work. 

Wil.  I  think  you  are  altogether  right,  friend,  and  this  man  describ 
ed  here  is  a  fine  fellow — no  mistake  about  that.  He  worked  for  me 
some  half  dozen  years  in  my  bagging  factory,  and  he  was  my  best 
hand,  sir.  He  is  an  ingenious  fellow,  too ;  he  invented  amachiae  foz 
fhe  cleaning  of  hemp — a  really  valuable  affair;  it's  gone  into  use  it 
several  factories.  Ilis  master  holds  the  patent  of  it 

Pktn.  I'll  warrant  ye,  holds  it  and  makes  money  out  of  it,  and 
lhe»  turns  round  ;md  brands  the  hoy  in  his  right  hand  '  If  I  had  • 
(ai*  thance,  I'd  murk  l-'n  '  ••••i-kon  <<<>  that  he  1  rarrv  it  otw  whil«  ' 


0  tniCLE    TOM  0    CABIN. 

Enter  GEORGE  HARRIS,  disguised.  L.  I  B. 

Qtc.    [Speaking  at  he  enters.]  Jim,  too  to  the   trunks    '5e«    Hi* 
BOS.]  Ah!  Mr.  Wilson  here? 
Wil.  Bless  my  soul,  can  it  be  1 

Qeo.  [Advances  and  grasps  his  hand.  \  Mr.  Wilson,  I   see  you  r» 
neinber  me,  Mr.  Butler,  of  Oakland's.  Shelby  county. 
Wil.  Ye — yes — yes — sir. 

Ph\K  Holloa !  there's  a  screw  loose  here  somewhere.  That  oW 
gentleman  seems  to  be  struck  into  a  pretty  considerable  heap  of  astcc 
ishment.  May  1  be  teetotally  chawed  up!  if  I  don't  believe  that's  th« 
identical  man  I'm  arter.  [Crosses  to  GBOKGB.]  How  are  ye,  Georgt 
Harris  1 

Qeo.  [Starting  back  and  thrusting  his  hands  into  hit  breast  \  You 
enow  me  1 

Phin.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  I  rather  conclude  I  do  ;  but  don't  get  riled,  I 
an't  a  bloodhound  in  disguise. 

Oto.   How  did  you  discover  me  1 

Phin.  By  a  teetotal  smart  guess.  You're  the  very  man  I  want  t< 
see.  Do  you  know  1  was  sent  after  you  J 

Qeo.   Ah  !  by  my  master  1 

Phin.  No ;  by  your  wife. 

Qeo.  My  wife !     Where  is  she  1 

Phin.  She's  stopping  with  a  Quaker   family  over  on  the  Ohio  tide 

Geo.  Then  she  is  safe  1 

Phin.  Teetotally  ! 

Qeo.  Conduct  me  to  her. 

Phin.  Just  wait  a  brace  of  shakes  and  I'll  do  it.  I've  got  to  gc 
ind  get  the  boat  ready.  'Twon't  take  me  but  a  minute — make  your 
sell  comfortable  till  I  get  back.  Chaw  me  up!  but  this  is  what  i 
call  doing  things  in  short  onier.  [Exit  L.  1  K. 

Wil.  George  ! 

Qeo.  Yes,  George ! 

Wil.  t  couldn't  have  thought  it ! 

Qeo.  I  urn  pretty  well  disguised,  I  fancy ;  you  see  I  don't  answer  tc 
the  advertisement  at  all. 

Wil.  George,  this  is  a  dangerous  game  you  are  playing;  I  coull 
not,  have  advised  you  to  it. 

Qeo.   I  can  do  it  on  my  own  responsibility. 

Wil.  Well,  George,  I  suppose  you're  running  away — leaving  yom 
awful  master,  George.  (I  don't  wonder  at  it)  at  the  same  time,  I'm 
sorry,  George,  yes,  decidedly.  I  think  I  must  say  that  it's  my  duty 
U>  tell  you  so. 

Qeo.  Why  are  you  sorry,  sir  ? 

Wil.  Why  to  aee  you,  as  it  were,  setting  yourself  in  opposition  w 
the  laws  of  your  country. 

Qeo.  My  country!  What  country  have/,  but  the  gravel  Ard  1 
would  to  heaven  that  I  was  laid  there  ! 

WiL.  George,  you've  got  a  hard  master,  in  fact  he  is — well,  he  M>D- 
I  act*  hi  nisei'  reprehensibly — I  <:ai:  t  i>:vtend  to  defenl  him  I'm 


TOM  ft    tJABlB.  2 

«orry  for  yon,  now  ,  it's  4  bad  case — very  bad,  but,  we  must  all   »Jb 
nit  to  the  indications  of  provinence  George,  don't  you  see  ? 

Qeo.  I  wonder,  Mr.  Wilson,  if  the  Indians  should  come  and  take 
you  a  prisoner  away  from  your  wite  and  children,  and  want  to  keep 
you  all  your  life  hoeing  corn  for  them,  if  you'd  think  it  your  duty  u 
tbide  in  the  condition  in  which  you  were  called!  I  rather  imagine 
'.hat  you'd  think  the  first  stray  horse  you  could  find  an  indication  CK* 
providence,  shouldn't  you  1 

Wil.  Really,  George,  putting  the  case  in  that  somewhat  pecuiif 
igbt — I  don't  know — under  those  circumstances — but  what  I  might 
But  it  seems  to  me  you  are  running  an  awful  risk.     You  can't   hope 
to  carry  it  out.     If  you're  taken  it  will  be  worse  with  you  than  ever 
they'll  only  abuse  you,  and  half  kill  you,  and  sell  you  down  river. 

Qeo.  Mr.  Wilson,  I  know  all  this.  1  do  run  a  risk,  but — [Throw 
open  coat  and  shows  pistola  and  knife  in  his  belt.\  There  !  I'm  ready 
for  them.  Down  South  I  never  will  go  !  no,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  cat 
earn  L  yself  at  least  six  feet  of  free  soil — the  first  and  last  I  shall 
over  own  in  Kentucky  ! 

Wil.  Why,  George,  this  state  of  mind  is  awful — it's  getting  real'j 
desperate.  I'm  concerned.  Going  to  break  the  laws  of  your  coua- 
tryl 

Qeo.  My  country  again !  Sir,  I  haven't  any  country  any  morf 
than  I  have  any  father.  I  don't  want  anything  of  your  county,  ex 
cept  to  be  left  alone — to  go  peaceably  out  of  it ;  but  if  any  mac 
fries  to  stop  me,  let  him  take  care,  for  I  am  desperate.  I'll  fight  foi 
my  liberty,  to  the  last  breath  I  breathe  !  You  say  your  fathers  did 
it,  if  it  was  right  for  them,  it  is  right  for  me  ! 

Wtl.  [  Walking  up  and  down  and  fanning  his  face  «cith  a  largt 
yellow  silk  handkerchief.]  Blast  'em  all !  Haven't  I  always  said  so — 
the  infernal  old  cusses  !  Bless  me  !  1  hope  I  an't  swearing  now  !  Well 
go  ahead,  George,  go  ahead.  But  be  careful,  my  boy  ;  don't  shoot 
anybody,  unless — well,  you'd  better  not  shoot — at  least  I  wouldn't 
kit  anybody,  you  know. 

Qeo.  Only  in  self-defense. 

Wil.  Well,  well.  [Fumbling  in  his  pocket.]  I  suppose,  perhaps,  I 
aa't  following  my  judgement — hang  it,  I  won't  follow  nay  judgement 
So  here,  George. 

[Tai^si  out  a  pocket-book  and  off  en  GF,  KGB  a  roll  of  Mfl*. 

Qeo.  No,  my  kind,  good  sir,  you've  done  a  ^reat  deal  for  me,  and 
Lis  might  get  you  into  trouble.  1  have  money  enough,  I  hope,  tc 
.ake  me  as  far  as  1  reed  it. 

Wil.  No;  but  you  must,  George.  Money  is  a  great  ielp  every 
•  here,  can't  have  too  much,  .if  you  get  it  honestly.  Take  it,  & 
»ake  it,  now  do,  my  boy  ! 

Qio.  [Taking  the  money. \  On  condition,  sir,  that  I  may  repay  it 
ii  some  future  time,  I  will. 

Wil.  And  now  George,  how  long  are  you  going  to  travel  in  toil 
»»y  ?  Not  long  or  far  I  hope?  It's  well  carried  <u,  but  too  bold. 

G^c.    Mr   Wilson,  it  is  to  bold.  »»id  this  tavern  iv  so  near,  that  th«* 


!2  TNCLB  TOM'H  <,.\BIK 

will  hev«r  think  »>f  it;  they  will  look  1'or  me  on  aliea<l.  a.,  d  you  yooi 
wlf  wouldn't  know  me. 

Wi2.  But  the  mark  on  your  hand  1 

Geo.  {Draw  off  his  glove  and  shows  scar.}  That  is  a  paiting  iuar» 
of  Mr  Harris'  regard.  Looks  interesting,  doesn't  it  ? 

I  Puts  on  glove  ago.**.. 

Wil.  I  declare,  my  very  blood  runs  cold  when  1  think  of  it — yon 
condition  and  your  risks  . 

Geo.  Mine  has  run  cold  a  good  many  years;  at  present,  it's  al>  . 
ip  to  the  boiling  point. 

Wil.  George,  something  has  brought  you  out  wonderfully.  Yoi 
hold  up  your  head,  and  move  and  speak  like  another  man. 

Geo.  [Proudly.]  Because  I'm  a  freeman  '  Yes,  sir;  I've  *a:d 
"  master"  for  the  last  time  t,o  any  man.  I'm  free ! 

Wil.  Take  care!     You  are  not  sure  ;  you  may  he  taken. 

Geo  All  men  are  free  and  equal  in  the  grave  if  it  comes  to  that 
Mr.  \\  ilson. 

Enter  PHINBAS,  L.  1  K. 

Phin.  Them's  my  sentiment,  to  a  teet<  .,al  atom,  and  I  don't  car* 
who  knows  it !  Neighbor,  the  boat  is  ready,  and  the  sooner  we  make 
;racks  the  bet'^r.  I've  seen  some  mysterious  strangers  lurking  about 
these  diggings,  so  we'd  better  put. 

Geo.  Farewell,  Mr.  Wilson,  and  heaven  reward  you  for  the  manv 
kindnesses  you  have  shown  the  poor  fugitive  ! 

Wil.  [Grasping  his  kand.]  You're  a  brave  fellow,  Ge<  rge.  I  wisl. 
:n  my  heart  you  were  safe  through,  though — that's  what,  1  do. 

Phin.  And  ain't  I  the  man  of  all  creation  to  put  him  through 
stranger  1  Chaw  me  up  if  I  don't  take  him  to  his  dear  little  wife,  ir 
ihe  smallest  possible  quantity  of  time.  Come,  neighbor,  let's  va.nos* 

Geo.  Farewell,  Mr.  Wilson.  [Crosses  to  L   H. 

Wil.  My  best  wishes  "jo  with  you,  George  [Exit   R.  1  B. 

Phin.  You're  a  trump,  old  Slow-and-Easy. 

Geo.  \  Looking  of,  R.  H.J  Look  !  look  ! 

Phin.  Consaru  their  picters,  here  they  come  !  We  can't  get  out  o 
.he  house  without  their  seeing  us.  We're  teetotal!}*  treed  ! 

Oeo.  Let  us  flght  our  way  through  them  ! 

Phin.  No,  that  won't  do;  there  are  too  many  of  them  for  a  r*ai; 
Ight — we  should  be  chawed  up  in  no  time.  [Looks  round  and  #*«. 
•  op  door,  c.J  Holloa  !  here's  a  cellar  door.  Just  you  step  down  hen 
>  few  minutes,  while  I  parley  with  them.  [  (Afts  t"np 

Qto.  I  am  resolved  to  perish  sooner  than  surrender  ! 

f  Goes  down  trap. 

Phin.  That's  your  sort !  [doses  trap  and  stands  on  it.}  Here  tl.f 
ire! 

Enter  HALKT   MARKS,  LOKER  and  three  MEH,  L.  1  i 

Hal.  Bay,  8iran&«r,  you  havei.'t  seen  a  runaway  darkey  ahon*  th«v 
parts,  eh  'I 

Pk«*«.  What  kinrf  of  a  darte*f  1 


TOM'S    CABIN  9 

titu.  A  muiaiio  chap,  almost  as  light-coiup  «xuni*l  „-  *  *hlU 
MUV 

Phin.  W  as  he  a  pretty  good-looking  chap  1 
ffal.  Yes 

Pkin.  Kind  3f  tall  1 
EM.  Yes 

Pktm.  Wiu  br  JWD  hair  ? 
ZTa/    Yes 

PA«n    Ar.d  dark  eyes  ? 
ffo*.   Yes 

Phin    Pretty  well  dressed  1 
Hal.  Yes 

Phin.  Scar  on  his  right  hand  1 
ffoJ.  Yes,  yes. 

Phin.  Well,  I  ain't  seen  him. 
Hal.  Oh,  bother  '     Come,  boys,  let's  search  the  house 

[Exeunt,  *.  t  l 
P.^tw.  [Aai*«s  <»"ap.]  Now,  then,  neighbor  George. 

GP.OIOB  enters,  up  trap. 
flow's  the  time  to  cat  your  lucky 

Gfo.  Follow  me.  Phineas.  (Exit.  L.  1  B 

Phin.  In  a  brace  of  shakes.  |  Is  closing  trap  at 

HALEY,  MARKS,  LOKEU,  $c..  re-enter,  B.  1  B. 

Hal.  Ah!  he's  down  in  the  cellar.  Follow  me,  boys!  [Thrustt 
f  HINBAS  aside,  and  ritshts  down  trap,  followed  by  the  others.  PHIS 
BAB  closes  trap  and  stands  on  it. 

Phin.  Chaw  me  up!  but  I've  got 'em  all  in  a  trap.  [Knocking 
below.]  Be  quiet,  you  pesky  varmints  !  [Knocking.]  They  re  getting 
mighty  on  easy.  [Knocking.]  Will  you  be  quiet,  you  savagerous  crit 
ters  !  [The  trap  is  forced  open.  H*I.EY  and  MARKS  appear.  PHTH 
BAB  seizes  a  chair  and  stands  over  trap — picture.  \  Down  with  yon 
or  I'll  smash  you  into  apple- fritters  !  [Tableau — closed  r«. 

SCENE  IV.— A  F^in  Chamber. 

Top.  [Without,  L.  H.J  You  go  long.  No  more  nigger  dan  you  be  ' 
[Enters,  L.  H. — shouts  and  laughter  without — look'  yff.]  Yot  seem  t« 
think  yourself  white  folks.  You  ain't  nerry  one — black  nor  white 
I'd  like  to  be  one  or  turrer.  Law  !  you  niggers,  does  you  know  you  t 
til  sinners  1  Well,  you  is — everybody  is.  White  folks  is  sinners  too 
—  Miss  Feely  says  so — but  I  'spects  niggm  is  the  biggest  ones.  Bm 
:jOr  !  ye  ain't  any  on  ye  up  to  me.  I's  so  awful  wicked  there  can't 
voK-dy  do  lothiii'  with  me.  I  used  to  k<wp  old  missis  a-swarin  a> 
B*  h»  de  time  I  'spects  I's  de  wickedest  c-itter  in  do  world. 

[Song  c*wi  df-nre  int* 
Sntei  EVA,  L.  1  B. 

B»a.  Oh,  Topsy  '    Topsy  !  you  have  been  v»«"    •»«  -»<»  w^ 
T->v    Wril    1  'si^ots  I  h«,Te 


M  trnn,s  TOM  s  CABIV 

Sea.  What  makes  you  do  so  '< 

Top.  I  dunno  ;  I  'spects  it's  cause  I's  so  wicked 

Bra   Why  did  you  spoil  Jane's  earrings? 

Top.  'Cause  she's  so  proud.  She  called  me  a  littKj  black  hnp,  aiii 
tarred  ap  her  pretty  nose  at  me  'cause  she  is  whiter  than  I  am  1 
*aa  gvvine  by  her  room,  a'id  I  seed  ber  coral  earrings  lying  on  de  t»- 
)ie,  so  I  threw  dem  on  de  floor,  and  put  my  foot  on  'em,  and  scrunch 
>«  'em  sJl  to  little  bits — he!  he!  he!  I's  so  wicked. 

4Va.  Don't  you  know  that  was  very  wrong  1 

Top.  I  don't  car' !  I  despises  dern  what  sets  up  for  fine  ladies,  whei 
i/  7  aiti't  nothing  but  cream-colored  niggers  !  Dere's  Miss  Rosa — sh< 
f\ve»  me  lots  of  'pertinent  remarks.  T'other  night  she  was  gwine  U 
ball.  She  put  on  a  beau'ful  dress  dat  missis  give  her — wid  her  ha 
curled,  all  nice  and  pretty.  She  hab  to  go  down  de  back  stairs — dr> 
am  dark — and  I  puts  a  pail  of  hot  water  on  dem,  and  she  put  her  foci 
Into  it,  and  den  she  go  tumbling  to  de  bottom  of  de  stairs,  and  de  wa 
ter  go  all  ober  lier,  and  spile  her  dress,  and  scald  her  dreadful  bad 
He  !  he !  be  !  I's  so  wicked  ' 

Eva.  Oh  !  how  could  you  ! 

Top.  Don't  dey  despise  me  cause  1  dcn't  know  nothing ''  Doi '» 
fey  laugh  at  me  'cause  I'm  brack,  and  dey  ain't  1 

Eva.  But  you  shouldn't  mind  them. 

Top.  Well,  I  don't  mind  dem  ;  but  when  dey  are  passing  under  my 
winder,  I  trows  dirty  water  on  'em,  and  dat  spiles  der  complexions. 

Eta.  What  does  make  you  so  bad,  Topsy  1  Why  won't  you  try  and 
*>e  good  1  Don't  you  love  anybody,  Topsy  1 

Top.  Can't  recommember. 

Eva.  But  you  love  your  father  and  mother  1 

Top.  Never  had  none  ,  ye  know,  I  tailed  ye  that,  Miss  Eva. 

Eva.  Oh  !  I  know  ;  but  hadn't  you  any  brother,  or  sister,  or  aunt 
or 

Top.  No,  none  on  'em — never  uad  nothing  nor  nobody.  I's  brack— 
10  one  loves  me  ! 

JSva.  Oh  !  Topsy,  I  love  you  !  [Laying  her  hand  on  TOFST'S  thoul 
ter.]  I  love  you  because  you  haven't  had  any  father,  or  mother,  oi 
friends.  I  love  you,  and  I  want  you  to  be  good.  I  wish  yot 
would  try  to  be  good  for  nay  sake.  ^ToPSY  looks  astonished  for  a  ww 
ment,  and  then  bursts  into  tears.}  Only  think  of  it,  Topsy — you  <tu 
be  one  of  those  spirits  bright  Uncle  Tom  sings  about ! 

Top.  Oh  !  dear  Miss  Eva — dear  Miss  Eva  !  I  will  try — I  will  trr 
[  never  did  care  nothin'  about  it  before. 

Am.  If  you  try,  you  will  succeed.     Come  with  me. 

[Crosses  to  a  and  takes  TOFBBY'B 

fbp    I  will  try;  but  den,  I's  so  wicked  ! 

[Exit  EVA  R. R.,  followed  by  TOPSY, 

SCENE  V.— Chamber. 
Enter  GBCBOJS,  ELIZA  and  UABRY,  B.  1  K. 
(ho     At  length     Eliza,   after   many   wanderings.   w» 
reitad 


UBK.I.B    TOM  <    CABIP  fm 

HLize*    JhanEs  Xo  these  penerous  Quakers,  who  have  so  kindly  sn«l 
us 

0*0.   N  ,'t  forgetting  our  friend  Phineas. 

Eliza.  I  do  indeed  owe  him  much.  Twas  he  1  n,?i  upon  Mio  icy 
river's  bank,  after  that  fearlul,  but  successful  attempt,  when  1  fled 
from  the  slave-trader  with  my  child  in  my  arms. 

Oeo.  It  seems  almost  incredible  that  you  could  have  crossed  the 
'? «r  on  the  ice. 

Eliza.  Yes,  I  did.  Heaven  helping  m?,  I  crossed  on  the  ice,  fc 
•hey  were  behind  me — right  behind — and  there  was  no  other  wa/ 

Oeo.  But  the  ice  was  all  in  broken  up  bk  cks,  swinging  and  h«avii4 
ap  and  iown  in  the  water. 

Eliza.  I  know  it  was — 1  know  it;  1  did  not  think  I  should  get 
over,  but  I  did  not  care — I  could  but  die  if  1  did  not!  I  leaped  on 
the  ice,  but  how  I  got  across  I  don't  know  ;  the  first  I  remember,  • 
man  was  helping  me  up  the  bank — that  man  was  Phineas. 

Oeo.  My  brave  girl '  you  deserve  your  freedom — you  have  richly 
^amed  it ' 

Eliza.  And  when  we  get  to  Canada  I  can  help  you  to  work,  and  be 
Iween  us  we  can  find  something  to  live  on. 

Geo.  Ves,  Eliza,  so  long  as  we  have  each  other,  and  our  boy.  Oh  . 
Eliza,  if  these  people  only  knew  what  a  blessing  it  is  for  a  man  to  feel 
that  his  wife  and  child  belong  to  him  !  I've  often  wondered  to  see 
naen  that  could  call  their  wives  and  children  their  own,  fretting  and 
worrying  about  anything  else.  Why,  I  feel  rich  and  strong,  tboagb 
we  have  nothing  but  our  bare  hands.  If  they  will  only  let  me  aicuc 
uow,  I  will  be  satisfied — thankful ! 

EPiza.  But  we  are  not  quite  out  of  danger ;  we  are  not  yet  it 
Oanadh. 

Oeo  True  ;  but  it  seems  as  if  I  smelt  the  free  air.  and  it  makes  me 
urong ! 

Entet  PHINEAS,  dressed  as  a  Quaker,  u  1  B. 

Phin.  [  With  a  mwffle.]  Verily,  friends,  how  is  it  with  thee  1 — ham ' 

Oeo.   Why,  Phineas,  what  means  this  metamorphosis  1 

Phin.  I've  become  a  Quaker  '    that's  the  meaning  on't. 

Oeo.  What — you? 

Phin.  Teetotally  !  I  was  driven  to  it  by  a  strong  argument,  com 
posed  of  a  pair  of  sparkling  eyes,  rosy  cheeks,  and  pouting  lips.  Them 
•ips  would  persuade  a  man  to  assassinate  his  grandmother  !  [Asrumti 
the  Quaker  tone  agaia.]  Verily,  George,  I  have  discovered  something 
?f  importance  to  the  interests  of  thee  and  thy  party  ,  and  it  were  well 
tor  thee  tc  hear  it. 

Oeo.  Keep  us  not  in  suspense  ! 

Phin.  Well,  after  I  left  you  on  the  .  »ad,  I  stopped  at  a  littie,  lou* 
'•avern,  just  below  here.  Well,  I  was  tired  with  hard  driving,  and  af 
tor  my  sapper  I  stretched  myself  down  on  a  pile  of  bags  in  the  coi 
oei,  and  pulled  a  buffalo  hide  over  me — and  what  does  I  do  but  g«» 
fast  asleep. 

Q*.e.  W'iih  one  »ar  open,  Phineas  1 


rTN'-LK     TOM    »     CAHIII 

No.  1  slept  ears  and  all  for  an  nour  or  two,  fo-.  I  »«.*  t  reUj 
well  tired  ;  but  ween  I  came  to  myself  a  little,  I  found  that  thoie  wen 
«ome  men  in  the  room,  sitting  round  a  table,  drinking  and  talking: 
*rid  I  thought,  before  I  made  much  muster,  I'd  just  see  what  thej 
were  up  to,  especially  as  I  heard  them  say  something  about  th»  Qua- 
k«-rs.  Then  I  listened  with  both  ears  and  found  they  were  talking 
ibout  you.  Po  I  kept  quiet,  and  heard  them  lay  off  all  their  plans, 
They've  got  a  right  notion  of  the  track  we  are  going  ta  night,  and  they'? 
oe  down  after  us,  six  or  eight  strong.  So,  now,  what's  to  K 
'•-•iie  7 

Eliza    What  shall  we  do,  George  1 

Qeo.   I  know  what  I  shall  do!  \Takes  out  pistol* 

Phin.  Ay — ay,  thouseest,  Eliza,  how  It  will  work — pistols — phit?, 
,".ppers  ' 

Eliza.   I  see  ,   out  I  pray  it  come  not  to  that ! 

Qeo.  1  don't  want  to  involve  any  one  with  or  for  me.  If  yon  wili 
lend  me  your  vehicle,  and  direct  me,  I  will  drive  alone  to  the  next 
<t,and. 

Phin.  Ah  !  well,  friend,  but  thee'll  need  a  driver  for  all  that. 
Tln-e's  quite  welcome  to  do  all  the  fighting  thee  knows  j  but  I  know 
a.  thing  or  two  about  the  road  that  thee  doesn't. 

Geo.   But  1  don't  want  to  involve  you. 

Phin.  Involve  me!  Why,  chaw  me — that  is  to  say — when  thee  doe« 
involve  me,  please  to  let  me  know. 

Eliza.  Phineas  is  a  wise  and  skillful  man.  You  will  do  well,  Q«orge 
f>  abide  by  his  judgment.  And,  oh  !  George,  be  not  hasty  with  thest 
—young  Wood  is  hot !  [Laying  htr  hand  on  pistole. 

Qeo.  I  will  attack  no  man.  All  I  ask  of  this  country  is  to  be  loft 
alone,  and  I  will  go  out  peaceably.  But  I'll  fight  to  the  last  Veath 
before  they  shall  take  from  me  my  wife  and  son  !  Can  you  blame 
me  1 

Ph^n.  Mortal  man  cannot  blame  thee,  neighbor  George !  Flesh 
itid  blood  could  not  do  otherwise.  Woe  unto  the  world  because  of 
offenses,  but  woe  unto  them  through  whom  the  offense  cometh  !  That's 
gospel,  teetotally  ! 

Geo.  Would  not  even  you,  sir,  do  the  same,  in  my  plac  1 

Phin.  I  pray  that  I  be  not  tried  ;  the  flesh  is  weak — but  I  think 
my  flesh  would  be  pretty  tolerably  strong  in  such  a  case ;  I  ain't 
sure,  friend  George,  that  I  shouldn't  hold  a  fellow  for  thee,  if  then 
had  any  accounts  to  settle  with  him. 

Eliza.   Heaven  grant  we  be  not  tempted. 

Phin.  But  if  we  are  tempted  tc^  much,  why,  con«arn  'em !  1st 
.hem  look  out.  that's  all. 

Geo.  It's  quite  plain  you  was  not  born  for  a  Quaker.  The  oM 
nature  has  its  way  in  you  pretty  strong  yet. 

Phin    Well,   1  reckon  you  are  pretty  teototally  right. 

Qeo.  Had  we  not  better  hasten  our  flight  1 

Phin.  Well,  I  rather  conclude  we  had  ;  we'ne  full  'wo  hours  ahe*4 
•»/  tiem,  if  they  «tart  at  the  time  th«y  planned  sf  let's  vamose 

Kxtlttt    R.   1  » 


B.M'I.K    nut  K   <:AKI»  2* 

*JENK    \l.-  A    Rocky    Past    ti»    the  HiUt.—    Mrge  net  t  j*t  i»*a 
Platform,  L.  D.  K. 

Pktn.  i  Without,  R.  p.  R. ]  Out  with  you  in  a  twinkling,  every 
me,  and  ap  into  these  rocks  with  me  .  run  now,  if  you  ever  did 
mn !  [  Music. 

'HIUTA«   enters,    irt<A    HARRT    t/i    /it*   arms. — QBOROB   rupportiHf 
ELIZA,  R.  0.  I. 

.'ome  up  neie;  this  is  one  of  our  old  hunting  dens.  Come  up.  [Thi* 
t.fcend  the  roek.\  Well,  here  we  are.  Let  'em  get  us  if  they  can. 
Whoever  comes  here  has  to  walk  single  file  between  those  two 

•ocks,  in  fair  range  of  your  pistols — d'ye  see  1 

rto    I  do  see.     And  now,  as  this  affair  is  mine,  let  me  take  all 

h)  risk,  and  do  all  the  fighting. 

Pkin.  Thee's  quite  welcome  to  do  the  fighting,  George ;  but  I 
may  have  the  fun  of  looking  on,  I  suppose.  But  see,  these  fellows  are 
kind  of  debating  down  there,  and  looking  up,  like  hens  when  they  are 
going  to  fly  up  onto  the  roost.  Hadn't  thee  better  give  'em  a  word 
of  advice,  before  they  come  up,  jest  to  tell  'em  handsomely  they'll  b« 
*hot  if  they  d<(. 

LOKEB,  MARKS,  and  three  MK.N  enter,  R.    2  K. 

Marks.  Well,  Tom,  your  coons  are  fairly  treed. 

Loker.  Yes,  I  see  'em  go  up  right  here ;  and  here's  a  path — I'm 
tor  going  right  up.  They  can't  jump  down  in  a  hurry,  and  it  won'J 
.ake  long  to  ferret  'em  out. 

Marks.  But,  Tom,  they  might  fire  at  us  from  behind  the  rocks 
That  would  be  ugly,  you  know. 

Loker.  Ugh  !  always  for  saving  your  skin,  Marks.  No  danger. 
niggers  are  too  plaguy  scared  ! 

Marks.  I  don't  know  why  I  shouldn't  save  my  skin,  it's  the  best  I've 
got;  and  niggers  do  fight  like  the  devil  sometimes. 

Oeo.  [Rising  on  the  rock  ]  Gentlemen,  who  are  you  down  there 
and  what  do  you  want  1 

Loker.  We  want  a  party  of  runaway  niggers.  One  George  and 
filiza  Harris,  and  their  son.  We've  got  the  officers  here,  and  a  war 
rant  to  take  'em  too.  D'ye  hear  ?  An't  you  George  Harris,  that  be 
longed  to  Mr.  Harris,  of  Shelby  county,  Kentucky! 

Oeo.  1  am  George  Harris.  A  Mr.  Harris,  of  Kentucky,  did  call  m« 
ills  property.  But  now  I'm  a  freeman,  standing  on  heaven's  fre« 
«>il !  My  wife  and  child  1  claim  as  mine.  We  have  arms  to  defend 
•nrselves  and  we  mean  to  do  it.  you  can  come  up  if  you  like,  bni 
,.ie  first  one  that  comes  within  range  of  our  ballets  is  a  dead  man  ' 

Marks.  Oh,  come — come,  young  man,  this  or  10  kind  of  talk  at 
til  for  you.  You  see  we're  officers  of  justice.  We've  got  the  law  01 
iur  side,  and  the  power  and  so  forth ;  so  you'd  better  give  uppe»c«a 
•ly,  you  see — for  you'll  certainly  have  to  give  up  at  last 

y«o.  1  know  very  well  that  you've  got  the  law  on  your  side,  and 
,ne  pow«-,r ;  but  you  haven't  g~t  us.  We  are  standing  here  as  free  tn 


flS  01ICL*    TOM  ft    CABIN 

f  on  are,  and  by  itie  great  power  that  made  us     we'll    fight    tor   oik 
liberty  till  we  die  ! 

[During  this,  MARKS  drones  a  pistol,  and  whtn  fit  eoneijdtt  Jtrn 
at  htm — EUZA  screams. 

Geo.   It's  nothing.  Eliza  ,   I  am  unhurt 

Phin.  [Drawing  GBOKOB  down.\  Thee'd  letter  keep  out  of  sigi 
*;th  thy  speechifying  ;  they're  teetotal  mean  scamps. 

LoKer.  What  did  you  do  that  for,  Marks  1 

Marks.  Yoc.  see,  you  get  jist  as  much    for   him   dead   as   alive   in 
Kan  tacky. 

Geo.  Now,  Phineas,  the  first  man  that  advances  I  fire  at;   you  takt 
Lie  second,  and  so  on.     It  won't  do  to  waste  two  shots  on  on«. 

Phin.  But  what  if  you  don't  hit  1 

jfeo.   I'll  try  my  best. 

Phin.  Creation  !  chaw  me  up  if  there  a'nt  stuff  in  you  ! 

Marks.  I  think  I  must  have  hit  some  on'em.     I  heard  a  squeal. 

Loker.  I'm  going  right  up  for  one.     I  never  was  afraid  of  niggeis, 
ind  I   an't  a  going  to  be  now.     Who  goes  after  me  ? 
Music. — LOKKR  dashes  up  the  rock. — QEoaasJires. — He  staggers  j 'w 

a  moment,  then  springs  to  the  top. — PHINEAS  seizes  him. — A  strug 
gle. 

Phin-  Friend,  thee  it  not  wanted  here  ! 

[Throws  LOKER  over  the  rock 

Marks.  [Retreating.]  Lord  help  us — they're  perfect  devils  ! 

Vusic. — MASKS  and  PARTY  run  off  R.  2  B. — QEORQB  and  ILIJU 
kneel  in  an  attitude  of  thanksgiving,  with  the  GUILD  between  them 
— PHINKAB  stands  over  them  exulting. — Tableau. 

END  OF  ACT  II. 


ACT     III. 

SCENE  I.—  Chamber. 

Enter  ST.  CLA.RE,  followed  by  Ton,  B.  1  *. 

A    C.  [Giving  money  and  papers  to  TOM.]  There,  Tcm,  are  the 
tills,  and  the  money  to  liquidate  them. 
Tom.  Yes,  mas'r. 

St.  C.  Well,  Tom.  what  are  you  waiting  ftr  1    Isn't  all  right  tb«r«1 
Tom.  I'm  'fraid  not,  mas'r. 
»   ft   Why,  Tom.  what's  the  matter  .     Tan  look  as  solemn  at  t 


DHCLB   TOV'8   OABIK.  21 

ftim  I  feel  reiy  bad,  mas'r.  I  allays  have  thought  thai  mas  i 
irouid  be  good  to  everybody. 

St.  C.  Well,  Tom,  haven't  I  been  1  Come,  now ,  what  do  you  want  i 
There's  something  you  haven't  got,  I .  suppose,  and  this  is  the  pre 
face. 

Tom.  Mas'r  allays  been  good  to  me.  I  haven't  nothing  to  comp'air 
of  on  that  head ;  but  there  is  one  that  mas'r  isn't  good  to. 

St.  C.  Why,  Tom,  what  s  got  into  you  ?  Speak  out — what  do  joi 
mean  7 

Tom.  Last  night,  between  one  and  two,  I  thought  so.  I  studied 
pon  the  matter  then — mas'r  isn't  good  to  himself. 

St.  C.  Ah  !  now  I  understand  ;  you  allude  to  the  state  in  whicb 
1  carne  home  last  night.  Well,  to  tell  the  truth.  I  teas  slightly  elevat 
ed — a  little  more  champagne  on  board  than  I  coukl  comfortably  carry. 
That's  all,  isn't  it  1 

Tom.  [Deeply  affected — clasping  his  hands  and  weeping.]  All ! 
Oh  !  my  dear  young  mas'r,  I'm  "fraid  it  will  be  loss  of  all — all,  body 
and  soul.  The  good  book  says  "it  biteth  like  a  serpent  and  sting- 
elh  like  an  adder,"  my  dear  mas'r. 

Si.  C.  You  poor,  silly  fool !     I'm  not  worth  crying  over. 

Ton.  Oh,  mas'r!  I  implore  you  to  think  of  it  before  it  gets  too 
late. 

St.  C.  Well,  I  won't  go  to  any  more  of  their  cursed  nonsense,  Tom 
— on  my  honor.  I  won't.  I  don't  know  why  I  haven't  stopped  long 
ago;  I've  always  despised  it,  and  myself  for  it.  So  now,  Tom,  wipe 
up  your  eyes  and  go  about  your  errands. 

Tom.  Bless  you,  mas'r.  I  feel  much  better  now.  You  have  taker 
a  load  from  poor  Tom's  heart.  Bless  you  ! 

St.  C.  Come,  come,  no  blessings  ;  I'm  not  so  wonderfully  good 
now.  There,  I'll  pledge  my  honor  to  you,  Tom,  you  don't  see  me  so 
again.  [Exit  TOM,  R.  1  E.)  I'll  keep  rny  faith  with  him,  too. 

Oph.  [  Without.  L.  1  E.J  Come  along,  you  shiftless  mortal ! 

St.  C.  What  new  witchcraft  has  Topsy  been  brewing  ?  Thai  coi» 
(action  is  of  her  raising,  I'll  be  bound. 

Enter  OPHELIA,  dragg\ny  in  Topsr,  L.  1    •. 

Oph.  Come  here  now  ;  I  will  tell  your  master. 

St.  C.  What's  the  matter  now  1 

Oph.  The  matter  is  that  I  cannot  be  plagued  with  this  girl  any  Wm« 
kl's  past  all  bearing ;  flesh  and  blood  cannot  endure  it.  Here  I  locked 
her  up  and  gave  her  a  hymn  to  study  ;  and  what  does  she  do  but  spj 
aut  where  I  put  my  key,  and  has  gone  to  my  bureau,  and  got  a  bor 
.iet-trimming  and  cut  it  all  to  pieces  to  make  dolls'  jackets  !  I  neve* 
»aw  anything  like  it  in  my  life ! 

St.  C.  What  have  you  done  to  her  1 

Oph.  What  have  I  done  7  What  haven't  I  done  7  Four  wife  uyi 
I  ought  to  have  her  whipped  till  she  couldn't  stand, 

PH.  C.  I  don't  doubt  it.  Tell  me  of  the  lovely  rule  of  woman.  f 
*»ver  saw  above  a  dozen  women  that  wouldn't  half  kill  a  horse,  v  < 


40  trUOLB   TOM'S   CABIC. 

MI  rant,  either,  if  they  had  their  own  way  with  them — lei    alone  \ 
man. 

Oph.  I  am  sure,  St.  Glare  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I'vo  taogh- 
mid  taught — I've  talked  till  I'm  tired  ;  I've  whipped  her,  I've  pun 
ished  her  in  every  way  I  could  think  of,  and  still  she's  just  what  sh« 
was  at  first. 

Si.  C  Come  here,  Tops,  you  monkev !  [TOPST  crosiet  to  ST.  CLABB 
f  inning. }  What  makes  you  behave  so? 

Top.  'Spects  it's  my  wicked  heart — Miss  Feely  says  so. 

Si  C.  Don't  yon  see  how  much  Miss  Ophelia  has  done  for  you  1 
<  e  says  sli3  has  done  everything  she  can  think  of. 

TVp.  Lo-',  yes,  mas'r!  old  missis  used  to  say  say  so,  too.  Shf 
vhifiped  me  a  heap  harder,  and  used  to  pull  my  ha'r,  and  knock  my 
*»-a  1  agin  the  door  ;  but  it  didn't  do  me  no  good.  I  'spects  if  they'a 
/»  pull  every  spear  of  lia'r  out  o'  my  head,  it  wouldn't  do  no  good 
leitlier — I's  so  wicked  !  Laws  '  I's  notliin'  but  a  nigger,  no  ways  ! 

[  Ooe$  up. 

Oph.  Well,  I  shall  have  to  give  her  up  ;  I  can't  have  that  trouble 
tuy  longer. 

St.  C.  I'd  like  to  ask  you  one  question. 

Oph.  What  is  ill 

St.  C.  Why,  if  your  doctrine  is  not  strong  enough  to  save  one  hei 
then  child,  that  you  can  have  at  home  here,  all  to  yourself,  what  t 
ihe  use  of  sending  one  or  t  vo  poor  missionaries  off  with    it   among 
thousands  of  just  such  1     I  suppose  this  girl  is  a  fair  sample  of  wha' 
thousands  of  your  heathen  are. 

Oph.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know ;  I  never  saw  such  a  girl  as  this. 

St.  C.  What  makes  you  so  bad,  Tops  ?  Why  won't  you  try  and  b« 
„•  *od  1  Don't  you  love  any  one,  Topsy  1 

Top.  [Comet  down,  c.]  Dunno  nothing 'bout  love;  I  loveg  candy 
rid  sich,  that's  a!!. 

Oph.  But,,  Topsy.  if  you'd  only  try  to  be  good,  you  might. 

Top.  Couldn't  never  be  nothing  but  a  nigger,  if  I  was  ever  so  good 
'f  I  could  be  skiiiLed  and  come  white,  I'd  try  then. 

St.  C.  People  can  love  you,  if  you  are  black,  Topsy.  Miss  Ophelii 
ivould  love  you,  if  you  were  good.  [Topsr  laughs.]  Don't  you  think 
^1 

Top.  No,  she  can't  b'ar  me,  'cause  I'm  a  nigger — she'd's  soon  hart 
a  toad  touch  her.  There  can't  nobody  love  niggers,  and  niggers  can'1 
!o  nothin' !  I  don't  car' '  [  Vhtsilet. 

Si  C.  Silence,  you  incorrigible  imp,  and  begone  ! 

Top.  He  !  he  !  he  !  didn't  get  much  out  of  dis  chile  ! 

[Exit,  L.  1  B. 

Opk.  I've  always  had  a  prejudice  agairst  negroes,  and  it's  a  fact — 

never  could  bear  to  have  that  child  touch  me,  but  I  didn't  think 
.'j«  knew  it 

Sf  C.  Trust  any  child  to  find  that  out,  there's  no  keeping  it  frcnc 
!i«i'i  But  I  believe  all  the  trying  in  the  world  to  benefit  a  child, 
v  *  »tt,  th«  substantial  favors  you  can  do  them,  will  never  excite  <*• 


C9CL.lt    TOM'S    CABIN,  fl 

,iiioti<.i   n,   -sratnude,  while  ibal  feeling  of  re{  agnaije  remains  in  tr* 
neart.     It's  a  queer  kind  of  a  fact,  but  so  it  is. 

Opk.  1  don't  know  how  1  can  help  it — they  are  disagreeable  to  m« 
»hia  girl  in  particular.  How  can  I  help  feeling  so  f 

St   C    Eva  does,  it  seems. 

Opk  Well,  she's  so  loving  I  wish  I  was  like  her.  She  migh! 
each  me  a  lesson. 

Si  C.  It  would  riot  be  the  flrst  time  a  little  child  had  t-sen  used  t" 
.isti'ict  an  old  disciple,  if  it  were  so.  [Cro.net  io  L.)  Come,  let  ut 
i-ek  Eva.  in  her  favorite  bovver  by  *he  lake 

r*p\.  Why  the  dew  is  fulling,  she  uustn't  be  out  there.  She  is  ut 
«e!l,  1  know. 

St.  C.  Don't  be  croaking,  cousin — I  hate  it. 

Oph.   But  she  has  that  cough 

Si  C.  Oh,  nonsense,  of  that  cough — it  is  not  anything.  She  h«.« 
«tken  a  little  cold,  perhaps. 

Opk.  Well,  that  was  just  the  way  Eliza  Jane  was  taker, — and 
Kllen— 

St.  €•  Oh,  .stop  these  hobgoblin,  nur.se  legends.  You  old  hands  get 
»i<  wise,  that  a  child  cannot  cough  or  sneeze,  but  you  see  desperation 
ind  ruin  at  hand.  Only  take  care  of  the  child,  keep  h»si  from  the 
light  air,  and  don't  let  her  play  too  hard,  and  she'll  do  well  enough- 

|  Exeunt  L    1  K. 


SCENE  II  — The  flat  represents  the  lake. —  Tkt  ray*  of  the  setting 
sun  tinge  the  waters  with  gold  — A  large  free  E.  3  K.—Btnttttlt 
this  a  grassy  bank,  on  which  EVA  [L.. j  and  TOM  [R.]  are  seated 
side  by  side. — EVA  h>is  a  Bible  open  on  her  lap. — Music. 

Tom.  Read  dat  passage  again,  please,  Miss  Eva  1 
Eva.  [Reading.]  "  And  1  saw  a  sea  of  glass,    mingled    with    fir*. 
'  Stopping  suddenly  and  pointing  to  lake.]  Tom,  the  e  it  is  ! 
Tom    What,  Miss  Eva  1 

Eva.  Don't  you  see  there  ?     There's  a  "  sea  of  glass  mingled   wtU 
fire." 

Tom*   True  enough,  Miss  Eva.  [Sings.] 

Oh,  had  1  the  wings  of  the  morning, 
I'd  fly  away  to  Canaan's  shore  ; 
Bright  angels  should  convey  me  home, 
To  the  New  Jerusalem. 

Kva    Where  do  you  suppose  New  Jerusalem  is,  Uncle  Tom  1 
Tom    Oh,  up  in  the  clouds,  Miss  Eva. 

Eta.  Then  I  think  I  see  it.     Look  in  those  clouds,  they   look    life 
4  Teat  gates  of  pearl ;  and  you  can  see  beyond   them — far,   tor    off- 
i  H  all  gold  !     Tom,  sing  about  '  spirits  bright.' 
Ibm.   \S\ngt.\     I  see  a  band  of  spirits  bright. 
That  taste  the  glories  there ; 
They  are  all  robed  in  spotless  whit*. 
And  conquering  palms  thev  bear 


&  CXCLI   TOM'S    OAB'.V. 

A'ro.  L'Lcle  lorn,  I've  seen  M«H. 

7W.  To  Le  sore  yon  have  ;  you  are  one  of  them  yourself,  fa*? 
the  brightest  spirit  I  ever  saw. 

Eva..  They  come  to  me  sometimes  in  my  sleep — those  tpiriL- 
bright — 

They  are  all  robed  in  spotless  white, 
And  conquering  palms  they  bear. 
Uncle  Tom,  I'm  going  there 
Tom.  Where,  Miss  Eva  1 

Eva.  [Pointing  to  the  iky,]  I'm  going  thtrt,  to  the  spirits  brigLi 
Tom  ;  I'm  going  before  long. 

Tom.  It's  jest  no  use  tryin' to  keep  Miss  Eva  here;  I've  allayt 
*aid  so.  She's  got  the  Lord's  mark  in  her  forehead.  She  wasn'i 
aever  like  a  child  that's  to  live — ther?  was  always  something  deep  i? 
her  ejes. 

Htsti  and  comet  forward  B. — EVA  alto  co-m^s  forward   c.,    bavin  £ 
Bible  on  bank. 

Enter  ST.  CLARK,  L.  1  F. 

St.  C.  Ah  !  my  little  passy,  you  look  as  blooming  as  a  rose!  Yo« 
8  re  better  now-a-days,  are  you  not  1 

Eva.  Papa,  I've  had  things  I  wanted  to  say  to  yon  a  great  while 
I  want  to  say  them  now,  before  I  get  weaker. 

St.  C.  Nay,  this  is  an  idle  fear,  Eva  j  you  know  you  grow  strongei 
every  day. 

Eva.  It's  all  no  use,  papa,  to  keep  it  to  myself  any  longer.  Th< 
time  is  coming  that  I  am  going  to  leave  yon,  I  am  going,  and  nevei 
to  come  back. 

St.  C.  Oh,  now,  my  dear  little  Eva !  you've  got  nervous  and  lo* 
spirited  ;  you  mustn't  indulge  such  gloomy  thoughts. 

Eta.  No,  papa,  don't  deceive  yourself,  I  am  not  any  bvtw>r  ,  I 
Know  it  perfectly  well,  and  I  am  going  before  long.  I  am  i*>t  ner 
vous — I  am  not  low  spirited.  If  it  were  not  for  yon,  papa  and  mj 
friends,  I  should  be  perfectly  happy.  I  want  to  go — I  long  o  go  I 

St.  C.  Why,  dear  child,  what  has  made  your  poor  little  heart  »• 
sad  1  You  have  everything  to  make  yon  happy  that  couJ  .  be  givei 
F'JU. 

Eva.  1  had  rather  be  in  luMVfii !  There  are  a  jjreat  namy  thing; 
ae>re  that  makes  me  sad— iiiat  seem  dreadful  to  me  ;  I  ha-4  rather  b> 
'here  ;  but  I  don't  want  u>  lo'  «»  yoo  -it  almost  breaks  my  heart ' 

Si.  C-  What  makes  >\  u  «ad,  ani  wv<»t  e^ema  dreadful,  Eva] 

Eva.  I  teel  sad  fo-  OPT  p^or  people ,  tb*y  love  mr,  leariy,  in« 
ihey  are  all  «o'>d  -^id  k'-id  M  -a«.  I  wish,  papa,  tl  >y  were  ai 
free  '. 

St-  C  W>/,  Eva  cb'id  dou'l  you  thitk  they  are  «r«  J  '.noigb  of 
ww  1 

Sea  J&  ke^ding  tkt  quest***.]  Papa,  isn't  there  *  *raj  to  hat« 
)Uve»  Jtttfa  free  1  When  I  am  dead,  paoa.  then  yon  will  t*.ir>*.  < 
wo  *nd  do  it  for  my  sake  1 


TWOUi    TOK'S    CAB  I*  »* 

St.  0-  When  you  are  dead,  Era  1  Oh.  chilu  den  ^..k  vo  OM  M» 
/ou  are  all  I  have  on  earth  ! 

Eva.  Papa,  these  poor  creatures  lore  their  children  as  muoh  •« 
you  do  me  Tom  loves  his  children.  Oh,  do  something  for  them  ! 

St.  C.  There,  there  darling  ;  only  doii't  distress  yourself,  and  don 
balk  of  dying,  and  I  will  do  anything  you  wish. 

Eva.  And  promise  me,  dear  father,  that  Tom  shall  have  his  free 
om  as  soon  as — [Hesitating.]  —I  am  gone  ! 

St.  C.  Yes,  dear,  I  will  do  anything  in  the  world — anything  you 
,«uld  ask  me  to.  There,  Tom,  take  her  to  her  chamber,  this  evening 
ilr  is  toe  chill  for  her.  [Music. — Kisses  her. 

[Toil  takes  EVA  in  hit  arms,  and  exit  a.  u.  K 

St.  C.  [Gazing  mournfully  after  EVA.]  Has  there  evsr  been  « 
.iliild  like  Eva  1  Yes,  there  has  been  ;  but  their  names  are  always. 
>«i  grave-stones,  and  their  sweet  smiles,  their  heavenly  eyes,  theii 
singular  words  and  ways,  are  among  the  buried  treasures  of  yearning 
hearts.  It  is  as  if  heaven  hart  an  especial  band  of  angels,  whos* 
office  it  is  to  sojourn  for  a  season  here,  and  endear  to  them  the  way 
ward  human  heart,  that  they  might  bear  it  upward  with  them  in  thei; 
homeward  flight.  When  you  see  that  deep,  spiritual  light  in  the  eye 
when  the  little  soul  reveals  itself  in  words  sweeter  and  wiser  thai, 
the  ordinary  words  of  children,  hope  not  to  retain  that  child  ;  for  :hz 
seal  of  heaven  is  on  it,  and  the  light  of  immortality  looks  out  from 
it's  eyes!  [Music. — Exit  R.  o  g 

SCENE  III. — A  corridor.  —  Protcenium  doors  on. — Music 

Enter  TOM,  L.  1  B.,  he  listen*  at  R.  door  and  then  lies  down 

Enter  OPHELIA,   L.  1  >.,  with  candle. 

Op*.  Uncle  Tom,  what  alive  have  yon  taken  to  sleeping  any  when 
and  every whero,  like  a  dog,  for  ?  I  thought  you  were  one  of  tr« 
orderly  sort,  that  liked  to  lie  in  bed  in  a  Christian  way. 

Tom.  [Rues. — Mysteriously.]  I  do,  Miss  Feely,  I  do,  bu*  now — 

Oph    Well,  whit  now  1 

Tom.  We  mustn't  speak  loud  ;  Mas'r  St.  Clare  won't  heai  on't;  b» 
Misn  Feely,  yon  khow  there  must  b<>  somebody  watchin'  for  tl*s 
oridegroom. 

Oph    What  do  you  mean,  Tom  1 

fyt*.  You  know  it  saye  in  Scripture,  '  At  midnight  there  was  » 
jreal  cry  made,  behold,  the  brideg:  x>m  coraeth  '"  That's  what  I'ir 
ipectiu'  now,  every  night,  Miss  Feeiy,  and  I  couldn't  sleep  tal  *' 
wearing,  noways. 

Oph.   Why,  Uncie  Tom,  what  makes  you  think  so  1 

Tom  Miss  Eva,  she  talks  to  me.  The  Lord,  he  sends  his  me? s«i. 
$er  in  the  sou'.  I  must  be  thar,  Miss  Feely ;  for  when  that  ar  ble.ss?»t 
child  goes  into  the  kingdom,  they'll  or«n  the  door  so  wide,  we'll  al 
get  a  look  in  at  the  glory  ! 

Oph.  Uncle  Tom,  did  Miss  Eva  say  she  felt  morn  unwell  thar 
wniahtl 


14  CRCljR    TOM  »    CABI.1 

Tom  Wo;  fit  she  tolled  me  she  was  coming  nearer—  Jiar  s  tb*« 
-hat  tells  it  V  th«  child,  Miss  Feely.  It's  the  angels — it  n  the  tramp 
«t  sound  afptt  toe  break  o'  day  ! 

Opk.  H%avca  grant  jcur  fears  be  rain  !  [Crosses  to  H.  j  Come  in 
Tom.  [Extunt  a.  1  •. 

SCENE  IV.— EVA'B  Chamber 

?•**  di*c-/rireal  on  a  couch.  —  A  table  stands  near  the  touch 
wi*!i  a  lamp  on.  it.  The  light  shines  upon  EVA'S  face,  which 
u  very  pate. — Scent  half  dark — UNCLE  TOM  is  kneeling  near  thi 
foot  of  the  couch.  L.  H. — OPHELIA  stands  at  the  head,  R.  H. — ST 
CLAHB  at  back.  — Scene  opens  to  plaintive  Music. — After  a  strait 
enter  MARIE,  hastily,  L.  1  B. 

Marie.  St.  Clare  !  Cousin  !  Oh  '  what  is  the  matter  now  1 

M.  C.  [Hoarsely.]  Hush!  she  is  dying! 

Marie.  [Sinking  on  her  knees,  beside  TOM.]  Dying  ! 

St.  C-  Oh!  if  she  would  only  wake  and  speak  once  more.  [Bend 
>ng  over  EVA.]  Eva,  darling  ! 

Eva.  [Uncloses  her  eyes,  smiles,  raises  her  head  and  tries  io  speak. 

St.  C.  Do  you  know  me,  Eva  ? 

Sta.  [Throwing  her  arms  feebly  about  his  neck.]  Dear  papa 
[Her  arms  drop  and  she  sinks  back 

St.  C.  Oh  heaven  !  this  is  dreadful !  Oh  !  Tom,  my  boy,  it  is  kill 
ng  me ! 

Tom.  Look  at  hei,  mas'r.  [Points  to  EVA. 

St.  C.  Eva  !  [A  pause.]  She  does  not  heai  Oh  Eva  !  tell  us  wh» 
wu  see.  What  is  it. 

Eva.  [  Feebly  smiling.]  Oh  !  love  !  joy  !  peace  !  [  Diet. 

Tot*.  Oh  !  bless  the  Lord  !  it's  over,  dear  mas'r,  it's  over. 

St.  C.  [Sinking  on  his  knees.]  Farewell,  beloved  child  !  the  bright 
eternal  doors  have  closed  after  thee.  We  shall  see  thy  sweet  face  n« 
tnor«j.  Oh!  wo  for  them  who  watched  thy  entiance  into  heaven 
Then  they  shall  wake  and  find  only  the  cold,  gray  sky  of  daily  lift 
ind  th  m  gone  forever  [Solemn  munt,  slow 

•>D  or  ACT  in. 


ACT      f  V, 

SCENE  l.—A  street  *»  JWi*  Orl*<*»* 
fattr  QuMrroN  Ccrg  a.   meeting  MARKS  i   • 

9*to.  How  do  ye  dew  1 

Markt.  How  are  you  1 

TuU    Well,  now,  squire,  it'i  *  fact  that  I  am    d*ad  broke  and  bo* 


0«OL«    "OB  • 

Varn*.    i  -u  Dare  oeen  speculating,  1  s appoint  '- 
:Xi#«.  1  hat's  just  it  and  nothir  g  shorter. 

Jtttrks.  Y;>u  have  had  poor  scccess,  you  say  ^ 

Cute.  Tarnation  bad,  now  I  tell  you  You  see  1  .t  ue  u>  this  part 
3.  the  country  to  make  my  fortune 

Marks.  And  you  did  not  do  it  7 

Cute.  Scarcely.  The  first  thing  I  tried  my  hand  at  was  keeping 
«r.hool.  I  opened  an  academy  for  the  instruction  of  youth  in  the  ?art 
>us  branches  of  orthography,  geography,  and  other  graphies. 

Marks.  Did  you  succeed  in  <-etting  any  pupils? 

Cute.  Oh,  lots  on  'em  !  and  a  pretty  set  of  dunces  they  were  too 
ifter  the  first  quarter,  I  called  on  ihe  respectable  parents  of  the 
juveniles,  and  requested  them  to  fork  over.  To  which  they  politelj 
'.riswered — don't  you  wish  you  may  yet  it  7 

Harks.    What  did  you  do  then  7 

Cute.  Well,  I  kind  of  pulled  up  stake>  and  left  those  diggins.  Weli 
Uien  I  went  into  Spiritual  Rapping*  for  a  living.  That  paid  pretty 
well  for  a  short  time,  till  J  met  with  an  accident. 

Marks-    An  accident  • 

Cute.  Yes;  a  tall  Yahoo  called  on  me  one  day  and  wanted  me  to 
•>ummon  the  spirit  of  his  mother — which,  of  course,  I  did.  He  asked 
<ne  about  a  dozen  questions  which  1  answered  to  his  satisfaction.  At 
last  lie  wanted  to  know  what  she  died  of — 1  said.  Cholera.  You  never 
lid  see  a  oiitter  so  riled  a>  he  was.  '  Look  ye  re.  stranger,'  said  he 
it's  my  opinion  that  you  re  a  pesky  humbug  !  for  my  mother  w&« 
)iowu  up  in  a  Steamboat  ''  with  that  he  left  the  premises  The  nexi 
liy  the  people  furnished  me  with  a  conveyance,  ai.d  1  n>de  oui  ol 

VOWII. 

Marks.   Rode  out  of  town  7 

Cute.   Yes  ;  on  a  rail  ! 

Marks.  I  suppose  you  gave  up  the  spirits,  after  that  1 

Cute.   Well,  I  reckon  I  did  ;  it  had  such  an  effect  on  my  spirits 

Marks.  It's  a  wonder  they  didn't  tar  and  featlier  you. 

Cute.  There  was  some  mention  made  of  that,  but  when  they  said 
feathers  I  felt  as  if  I  had  wings  and  flew  away. 

Marks.  You  cut  and  run  7 

Cute.  Yes ;  I  didn't  like  their  company  and  I  cut  it.  Well,  aftei 
-2?at  I  let  myself  out  as  an  overseer  on  a  cotton  plantation.  I  made 
k  pretty  good  thing  of  that,  though  it  was  dreadful  trying  to  my 
'eelir  gs  to  flog  the  darkies  ;  but  I  got  used  to  it  after  a  while,  acd 
.h«n  I  used  to  lather  'em  like  Jehu.  Well,  the  proprietor  got  th< 
'"Kver  md  ague  and  shook  himself  out  of  town.  The  place  and  al? 
he  fixings  were  sold  at  auction  and  I  found  myself  adrift  once  more 

Marks.  What  are  you  doing  at  present  7 

Cute.  I  m  in  search  of  a  rich  relation  of  mine 

Marks.  A  rich  relation  1 

Cute.  Yes.  a  Miss  Ophelia  St.  Clare.  You  see,  a  niece  of  hers  mar 
red  -Me  of  my  second  COUSIIIB — that's  how  I  came  to  be  a  relation  o< 
Mrs  She  came  or.  here  from  Vermont  to  be  housekeeper  to  a  eoa 
*n  of  hers,  of  the  name  name 


*  raci.ll    TOM'»    OAB.B 

Mark*.  1  know  him  well. 

Cute.  The  deuce  yon  do  ! — well,  that's  lucky. 

Marks.  Yes,  he  lives  in  this  city. 

Cute.  Say,  you  just  point  out  the  locality,  and  I'll  give  him 

Marks.  Stop  a  bit..  Suppose  you  shouldn't  be  able  to  rail*  thf 
»ind  in  that  quarter,  what  have  you  thought  of  doing  1 

Cute.  Well,  nothing  particular. 

Marks.  How  should  yon  like  to  enter  into  a  nice,  profitable  bn«J 
u>ss  —one  that  pays  well  1 

Cute.  That's  just  about  my  measure — H  would  suit  me  to  a  hair 
W-at  is  it  1 

Marks.  Nigger  catching. 

Cute.  Catching  niggers  '     What  on  airth  do  you  mean  1 

darks.  Why,  when  there's  a  large  reward  offered  for  a  runaway 
lavkey.  we  goes  after  him,  catches  him,  and  gets  the  reward. 

Cute.  Yes,  that's  all  right  so  far — but  s'pose  there  ain't  no  reward 
alfered  1 

Marks.  Why,  then  we  catches  the  darkey  on  our  own  account,  will 
bim,  and  pockets  the  proceeds. 

Cute.  By  chowder,  that  ain't  a  bad  speculation  ! 

Marks.  What  do  you  say  1  I  want  a  partner.  You  see,  I  lost  my 
partner  last  year,  up  in  Ohio — he  was  a  powerful  fellow. 

Cute.  Lost  him  !     How  did  you  lose  him  1 

Marks.  Well,  you  see,  Tom  and  1 — his  name  was  Tom  Loker — Tom 
and  I  were  after  a  mulatto  chap,  called  George  Harris,  that  run  away 
from  Kentucky.  We  traced  him  through  the  greater  part  of  Ohio, 
and  came  up  with  him  near  the  Pennsylvania  line.  He  took  refuge 
among  some  rocks,  and  showed  fight. 

Cute.  Oh  !  then  runaway  darkies  show  fight,  do  they  1 

Marks.  Sometimes.  Well,  Torn — like  a  headstrong  fool  as  he  wai 
— rushed  up  the  rocks,  and  a  Quaker  chap,  who  was  helping  thi« 
George  Harris,  threw  him  over  the  cliff. 

Cute.  Was  tie  killed  1 

Marks.  Well,  1  didn't  stop  to  rind  out.  Seeing  that  the  darkle* 
were  stronger  than  I  thought,  I  made  tracks  for  a  safe  place. 

Cute.  And  what  became  of  this  George  Harris  1 

Marks.  Oh  !  he  and  his  wife  and  child  got  away  safe  into  Canada. 
You  see.  they  wHl  get  away  sometimes  though  it  isn't  very  »ft«t 
Sow  what  do  you  say  '(  You  are  just  the  figure  for  a  fighting  part 
ner.  Is  it  a  bargain  1 

Ouie.  Well.  I  rather  calculate  our  teams  won't  hitch,  no  how.  By 
howder,  I  hain't  no  idea  of  setting  myself  up  as  a  target  f  r  darkiet 
«a  fire  at — that's  a  speculation  that  don't  suit  my  constitution. 

Marks.   You're  afraid,  thenl 

Cute.  No,  1  ain't  •  it's  asainst  my  principles. 

Mark*    Your  principles — how  so  1 

Qutt.  Because  my  principles  are  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  No.  1 
I  shouldn't  feel  wholesome  if  a  darkey  was  to  throw  me  ever  thai 
tiift*  look  after  Tom  Loker.  f  gxtunt,  or«i-«»-a**«»,  u  H 


TOM  8    CABIB 

SCENE  II. —  QotKit  Chimber.     Slo»  mi***. 
ST.  CLARK  discovered,  teated  on  so,  a,  B.  B.     TOM,  L.  u 

8t  C.  Oh '  Tom  my  boy,  the  whole  world  is  as  empt)  as  an  agg 
tf.ell 

Tom.  I  know  it,  mas'r,  I  know  it.  But  oh  !  if  raas'r  could  lo<  k  n; 
—up  where  our  dear  Miss  Eva  is — 

\  -St.  C.  Ah,  Tom  !  I  do  look  up ;  but  the  trouble  is,  I  don't  see  any 
thing  when  I  do.  I  wish  I  could.  It  seems  to  be  given  to  cUldron 
and  poor,  honest  fellows  like  you,  to  see  what  we  cannot.  How 
comes  it  1 

Tom.  Thou  hast  hid  from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and  revealed  ant< 
babes  ;  even  so,  Father,  for  so  it  seemed  good  in  thy  Might. 

St.  C.  Tom,  I  don't  believe — I've  got  the  habit  of  doubting — I  waul 
to  believe  and  I  cannot* 

Tom.  Dear  ruas'r,  pray  to  the  good  Lord  :  •'  Lord,  I  believe  ;  helf 
thou  my  unbelief." 

St.  C.  Who  knows  anything  about  anything  1  Was  all  that  beaut) 
ful  love  and  faith  only  one  of  the  ever-shifting  phases  of  human  feel 
ing,  having  nothing  real  to  rest  on.  passing  away  with  the  little  breath  " 
And  is  there  no  more  Eva — nothing  1 

Tom.  Oh!  dear  mas'r,  there  i.s.  I  know  it;  I'm  suie  of  it.  D«. 
do,  dear  mas'r,  believe  it  1 

St.  C.  How  do  you  know  there  is,  Tom  1     You  never  saw  the  Lord. 

Tom.  Felt  Him  in  my  soul,  mas'r — feel  Him  now !  Oh,  mas'r 
when  I  was  sold  away  from  my  old  woman  and  the  children,  I  wa» 
jest  a'most  broken  up — I  felt  as  if  there  warn't  nothing  left — and  thai. 
the  Lord  stood  by  me,  and  He  says.  "  Fear  not,  Tom,"  a  d  He  bring): 
light  and  joy  into  a  poor  fellow's  soul — makes  all  peace;  and  I's  so 
happy,  ana  loves  everybody,  and  feels  willin'  to  be  jest  where  the 
Lord  wants  to  put  me.  I  know  it  couldn't  come  from  me,  'cause  I's  a 
poor,  complaining  creature — it  comes  from  above,  and  I  kaow  U*»'g 
willin'  to  do  for  mas'r. 

St.  Q.  [Grasping  TOM'S  kand.\  Tom,  you  love  me  ! 

Tom.  1's  willin'  to  lay  down  my  life  this  blessed  day  for  you. 

St.  C  [Sadly.]  Poor,  foolish  fellow  !  I'm  not  worth  the  kveof  cn« 
S  >od,  honest  heart  like  yours. 

Tom.  Oh,  mas'r !  there's  more  than  me  loves  you — the  blew**-.! 
llaviour  loves  you. 

St.  C.  How  do  you  know  that,  Tom  1 

Tarn.  The  love  of  the  Saviour  passeth  knowledge. 

St.  C.  [Turns  away.]  Singular!  that  the  story  of  a  man  who  live*! 
ind  died  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  can  affect  people  so  yet.  But 
lie  was  no  man.  [Rises.]  No  mac-  ever  had  such  long  and  living 
power.  Oh !  that  I  could  believe  what  ni>  mother  taught  me,  *ud 
,jray  as  I  did  when  I  was  a  boy !  But,  Tom,  all  this  time  I  have  .  a 
gotten  why  I  sent  for  you.  I'm  going  to  make  a  freeman  of  you  * 
Save  your  trunk  packed,  and  get  ready  to  set  out  for  Kentuck. 
iJvjtfuUy.l  Bless  the  Lord  ! 


M  CITCLI    TOM  8    CARln 

•S*  C  [JPryly-j  Y.>u  haven't  had  such  very  bad  time.*  herr>,  .u* 
K'Q  need  be  in  such  a  rapture,  Tom. 

Tom.  No,  no,  mas'r,  'laia't  that;  it's  being  a.  freeman — that's  WH*A 
I'm  joyin'  {_;• 

St.  C.  Why,  Tom,  don't  yon  think,  for  your  own  part,  you've  beec 
hotter  off  than  to  be  free  1 

Tom.  No,  indeed,  Mas'r  St.  Clare — no,  indeed  ' 
St.  C    Why,  Tom,  you  couldn't  possibly  hate  earned,  by  your  work 
<uch  ;lotliea  and  such  living  as  I  have  given  you. 

Tom.  I  know  all  that,  Mas'r  8t.  Clare — mas'r's  been  too  good;  b'j 
I  rather  have  poor  clothes,  poor  house,  poor  everything,  and  v.avt 
t.u   mine,  than    have   the  best,  if  the}7  belonged  to  somebody  else 
*   had  so,  mas'r ;   I  think  it's  natur',  nias'r. 

St.  C.  I  suppose  so,  Tom  ;  and  you'il  be  going  off  and  leaving  m« 
:.  a  month  or  so — though  why  you  shouldn't  no  mortal  knows. 

Tom.  Not  while  mas'r  is  in  trouble.  I'll  stay  with  mas'r  as  lung  a» 
iie  wants  me,  so  as  I  can  be  any  use. 

St.  C.  [Sadly.]  Not  while  I'm  in  trouble,  Tom  1  And  whe&  will 
.uy  trouble  be  over? 

Tom    When  you  are  a  believer. 

St.  C.  And  you  really  mean  to  stay  by  me  till  that  day  comes  1 
Smiling  and  laying  his  hand  on  TOM'S  fhoulder.]  Ah,  Tom  !  I  won't 
l<eep  you  till  that  day.  Go  home  to  your  wife  and  children,  and  Qivf 
ny  love  to  all. 

Tom.  I's  faith  to  think  that  day  will  come — the  Lord  has  a  work 
or  mas'r. 

St.  C.  A  work,  hey  1  Well,  now,  Tom,  give  rue  your  views  on 
>»  hat  sort  of  a  work  it  is — let's  hear. 

Turn.  Why,  even  a  poor  fellow  like  me  has  a  work  ;  and  Mas'r  Si. 
Jlare,  that  has  larnin',  and  riches,  and  friends,  how  much  he  migh» 
Jo  for  the  Lord. 

St.  C.  Tom,  you  seem  to  think  the  Lord  needs  a  great  deal  dou« 
for  him. 

Tom.  We  does  for  him  when  we  does  for  his  creatures. 
St.  C.  Good  theology,  Tom.  Thank  you,  my  boy  ;  I  like  to  hea. 
you  talk.  But  go  now,  Tom,  and  leave  me  alone.  [  Exit  TOM.  L.  1  B.  j 
That  faithful  fellow's  words  have  excited  a  train  of  thoughts  that  al- 
oiost  bear  me,  on  the  strong  tide  of  faith  arid  feeling,  to  the  gates  of 
.hat  heaven  1  so  vividly  conceive.  They  seem  to  bring  me  nearer  tJ 
Sva. 

Opk.  [Outside,  L.  1  «.]  What  are  you  doing  there,  you  limb  of  8k 
au  1  You've  been  stealing  something,  I'll  be  bound. 

OPHELIA  drags  in  TOPHT    L.  1  8. 

Top    Fou  go  'long,  Miss  Feely,  'tain't  none  o'  yov.r  btuimmt. 

St.  C.  Heyday  !  what  is  all  this  commotion  1 

Opk    She's  been  stealing. 

Top.  [Sobbing.]  I  hain't  neither 

dph.  What  have  you  got  in  you-  bosom  1 

Te-y    I've  aot.  inv  hand    lar. 


Opk    That's  a  lib,  Topsy 

Top    Well,  I  'spects  it  is 

Opt:    Give  it  to  me.  whatever  it  ii 

Top  It's  mine — I  hope  I  may  'lie  this  bressed  minute,  i/  it  don'> 
c»  long  to  me. 

OpA.  Topsy,  1  irdor  you  to  i_'ive  me  that  article;  don't  let  aae  ht»t 
•o  ask  you  again  [To  PRY  reluctantly  taken  the  foci  of  an  old  ftocbtny 
'Tram  her  bosom  and  hands  it  to  OPHELIA.]  Sakes  alive  !  what  is  al 
•  his  1  [  Take*  from  <t  a  lock  of  hair,  and  a  smaL  book,  with  a  bil  v 
era.pt  twisted  around  it 

Top  Dat's  a  luck  of  lia'r  <iat  Miss  Eva  give  me— she  cut  it  fr  m 
her  own  beau'ful  head  herself. 

St.  C.  I  Takes  book.}  Why  did  you  wrap  this  [pointing  to  crape 
around  'he  book  ! 

Top.  Cause — 'cause — 'cause  'twas  Miss  Eva's.  Oh!  dou't  take 'ere 
away,  please  !  \Sits  down  on  stage,  and,  putting  her  apron  over  hit 
kead.  begins  to  sob  vehemently 

Oph.  Come,  come,  don't  crv  ;  you  shall  have  them. 

Top.  {Jumps  up  joyfully  and  takes  them]  I  wants  to  ket-p  'em, 
cause  'ey  makes  me  yood ;  1  ain't  half  so  wicked  as  I  used  to  wa«. 

[Runs  off,  L.  1  E. 

St.  C.  I  really  think  you  can  make  something  of  that  girl.  Am 
tuind  that  is  capable  of  a  real  torrow  is  capable  of  good.  You  mus 
iry  ami  do  something  with  her. 

Oph.  The  child  has  improved  very  much;  I  have  groat,  hopes  ol 
ber. 

St.  C.  1  believe  I'll  go  down  the  street,  a  few  momenta,  and  heai 
he  news 

Oph    Shall  I  call  Tom  to  attend  you  1 

St.  C-  No,  I  shall  be  back  in  an  hour.  |  hint,  L.  1  B. 

Oph.  He's  got  an  excellent  heart,  but  then  he's  so  .ireadful  shift 
•ess  '  \  K'jnt,  B.  1  B. 

SCENE  ILL— Front  Chamber. 
Enter  TOPBT,  L.  H. 

Top.  Uar's  somethin1  de  matter  wid  me — I  isn't  a  i>it  like  myself 
(  haven't  done  anything  wrong  since  poor  Mis?  Evi  went  ap  in  d< 
ikies  and  left  us.  When  I's  gwine  to  do  anything  wicked,  I  ticks  <y 
her,  and  somehow  I  can't  do  it.  1'e  getting  to  be  good,  db..'*  a  fact 
I  'spects  when  I's  dean  I  shall  be  turned  into  a  little  brack  angel. 

Enter  OPHBI'A,  L.  a 

Oph.  Topsy,  I've  been  looking  foi  yon ;  I've  got  something  cr* 
particular  to  say  to  you. 

Top    Does  you  want  me  to  gay  the  catechUm  1 

Oph    No,  not  now 

Top    \A*ide.\  (Jolly  '  dat'a  one  comfort 


»o  enrol*  TOM'S  CABIB. 

Oph.  Now,  Topoy,  I  want  you  to  try  and  understand    whai 
?oin£j  to  say  to  you. 

Tap.  Yes.  missis,  I'll  open  my  ears  dreflFul  wide 

Oph.  Mr.  St.  Clare  has  given  you  to  me,  Topsy. 

Top.  Ben  I  b'longs  to  you,  don't  1 1     Golly  !    I  thought   I 
Belonged  to  you. 

Oph.  Not  till  to-day  have  I  received  any  authority  to  tali  yot,  my 
roperty. 

Top.  I's  your  property,  am  1 1     Well,  if  you  say  so,  I  'specta  I  eru 

Oph.  Topsy,  I  can  give  you  your  liberty. 

Tap    My  liberty  1 

Oph.  Ves,  Topsy. 

Top    Has  you  got  !um  with  yon  1 

Oph.  I  have,  Topsy. 

Top    Is  it  clothes  or  wittles  1 

Oph.  How  shiftless  !     Don't  you  know  what  your  liberty  is,  Topsj  < 

Top.  How  should  I  know  when  I  never  seed  'urn  1 

Oph.  Topsy,  I  am  going  to  leave  this  place;  I  am  going  mart 
tules  away — to  my  own  home  in  Vermont. 

Top.  Den  what's  to  become  ofdis  chile  1 

Oph.  If  you  wish  to  go,  I  will  take  you  with  me. 

Top.  Miss  Feely,  I  doesn't  want  to  leave  you  no  how  ,  I  loves  you 
I  does. 

Oph.  Then  you  shall  share  my  home  for  the  rest  of  your  day* 
^  >me,  Topsy. 

fop.  Stop,  Miss  Feely  ;  does  dey  hab  any  oberseers  in  Varmount  1 

Oph.  No,  Topsy. 

Top.  Nor  cotton  plantations,  nor  sugar  factories,  nor  darkies,  not 
Chipping,  nor  nothing  7 

Oph.  No,  Topsy 

Top    By  Golly !  de  quicker  you  is  gwine  de  better  dea 

Enter  Ton,  hastily,  L.  H. 

Tom.  Oh,  Miss  Feely  !  Miss  Feely  ! 

Oph.  Gracious  me,  Tom !  what's  the  matter  1 

Tom.  Oh,  Mas'r  St.  Clare  !  Mas'r  St.  Clare! 

Oph.  Weil,  Tom,  well? 

Tom.  They've  just  brought  him  home  and  I  do  believe  b*  &  «.ii)«»} 

Oph.   Killed  7 

Top.  Oh  dear  !  what's  to  become  of  de  poor  iarkies  now  7 

Tom.  He's  dreadful  weak.  It's  jugt  as  mucii  -s  he  can  do  •.«,  apeak 
'io  wanted  me  to  call  you. 

Oph.  My  poor  cousin  !  Who  would  have  thought  of  it  1  DOR'^MJ 
»  word  to  his  wife.  Tom ;  the  danger  may  not  be  so  pr«at  a»  yoj 
think  ;  it  would  only  distress  he-.  Come  with  me  ;  you  may  b»  »b'» 
to  afford  socre  assistance.  f  fcr*w»»i  L.  I  « 


BNCLB    TOM  B    CABIN.  41 

SCENE  IV.—  Handsome  Chamber 

*?.  JLAHE  discovered  seated  on  sofa.  OPHELIA  B.  a  To*  u  c.  etna 
f'.pBT  L.,  are  clustered  around  kirn  DOCTOR  back  of  tof»  fe*l**.f 
iit  pulse  Scene  opens  to  slow  music 

St.  C.  \Raising  himself  feebly.]  Tom — poor  fellow  ! 

Torn.   Well,  mas'r  1 

Si   C    I  have  -eceived  my  death  wound. 

Ton.  Oh,  no,  no,  inns'r! 

St.  C.  I  fcel  that  I  am  dying— Tcm,  pray  ' 

Tbwi.   [Sinking  on  hi*  knees  ]  I  dc   pray,  raas'r  !  I  do  pray  ! 

St.  C.  \Afterapause.}  Tom,  one  thing  preys  upon  my  raiud— 
»»ve  forgotten  to  sign  your  freedom  papers.  What  will  become  < 
fou  when  I  am  "one  1 

Tom.  Don't  think  of  that,  mas'r. 

Si.  C.  I  was  wrong,  Tom,  very  wrong,  to  negiest  it.  1  may  be  tL< 
•aune  of  much  suffering  to  you  hereafter.  Marie,  my  wife — she— 
>h!— 

Oph.   His  mind  is  wandering. 

8t.  C.  [Emergetically.]  No1  it  is  coming  home  at,  last !  '  tvnks  back 
tt  last1  at  last'  Eva,  I  come1  [Dies.  Music — slovr  curtatn 

B»»    OF    ACT    IV. 


ACT    V. 


8CENE  I  —  An  Auction  Mart. 

TOM  and  EMMBLIKE  at  back — ADOLF,  S^KBOOS,  MARKB,  M*HI 
and  various  spectators  discovered.  MABK.^  and  MANN  come  foi 
ward. 

Marks.   Halloa,  Alf !  what  brings  you  here  1 

Mann    Well,  I  was  wanting  a  valet,  and  I   heard  that  St.  Ciar* 
Vt  was  going  ;  I  thought  I'd  just  look  at  them. 

Marks     Catch  me  ever  buying  any  of  St.  Clare's  people.     Spoil 
lagers,  every  one — impudent  as  the  devil. 

Mann.  Never  fear  that ;  if  I  get  'em,  I'll  soon  have  their  airs  on; 
if  them-  -they'll  soon  flnd  that  they've  another  kind  of  master  tu  dea 
with  than  St.  Clare.  Ton  my  word,  I'll  buy  that  fellow — I  lik* 
the  shape  of  him.  [Pointing  to  ADOLF. 

Marks.  You'll  flnd  it'll  take  all  you  ve  got  to  keep  him — he's  deu 
-edly  extravagant. 

tfann    Yt«s   hut  my  lord  will  flnd  that  h«s  can't  be  extravagant  wlfcl 


«i  ffWOi.1    TCM'i 

•M  J  tint  iei  I.  Mr  j«  aent  to  the  calaboose  a  lev  tin  if-,  and  lunougnr 
dre*oe<l  Jcwn,  I'll  tell  you  if  it  don't  bring  him  to  a  s*nne  of  his  wayu 
Oh  1  I'll  rot*  rm  him,  up  hill  and  down,  you'll  see.  I'll  buj  .im 
that's  flat. 


LBGCBH,  u.  a.  —  he  goes  up  and  looks  M  ADOLF,  whose  booti  an 
nicely  blacked. 

Legree.  A  nig.jer  wkh  nis  boots  blacked—  bah  !  [Spits  on  then."} 
tiol'.oa,  you  !  To  Torf.j  Let's  see  your  teeth.  [Seizes  TOM  by  the  jam 
**d  opens  his  mouth.]  Strip  up  your  sleeve  and  show  your  muscle. 
T\-M  does  so.]  Where  was  you  raised  ? 

Tom.  In  Kintuck   inaa'r. 

Leg.   What  have  you  done"! 

Tom.   Had  care  of  mas'r's  frum. 

Leg.  Thai's  a  likely  story.  [Turnt  to  EMMKLINH  |  You're  a  nice 
ooking  girl  enough.  How  old  are  you  '{  (  frraups  her  arm. 

Emmeline.  [Shrieking.]  Ah  !  you  hurt  rase 

Skeggs.  Slop  that,  you  minx  !  No  whimpering  he**?.  The  sale  is 
going  to  begin.  [Mounts  the  rostrum.']  Gentlemen,  the  r«sxt  article  1 
shall  offer  you  to-day  is  Adolf,  late  valet  to  Mr.  St.  Clare.  How  much 
mm  I  offered  1  [  Various  bids  are  made  ADOLF  is  knmked  down  tc 
MANN  for  eight  hundred  dollars.]  Gentlemen,  I  now  offer  a  prime  ar 
ticle  —  the  quadroon  girl.  Emmeline,  only  fifteen  years  of  aye,  war 
ranted  in  every  respect.  [Business  as  before.  EMMELINB  is  sold  t< 
LBQREB/OT  one  thousand  dollars.]  Now,  1  shall  close  to-day's  sale  by 
offering  you  the  valuable  article  known  as  Uncle  Tom,  the  mostusefu1 
nigger  ever  raised.  Gentlemen  in  want  of  an  overseer,  now  is  the 
time  to  bid. 

I  Iluitnest  as  before.     TOM  it   sold   to  LBORHB    for   twelve  hundred 
dollar  t. 

Leg.  Now  look  here,  you  two  belong  to  me. 

[Ton  and  EKMBLINB  ttnk  on  their  kneet 
Tom.  Heaven  help  us,  then  ! 
[Mutic  —  LBORBB  stands  over  them,  exulting    Picture  —  closed  tH. 

SCENE  II.  —  The  Garden  of  Miss  OPHELIA'S  House  in  ferment. 
Enter  OPHBLIA  and  DBACON  PERRY,  L.  1  B. 

Deacon.  Miss  Ophelia,  allow  me  to  offer  you  my  congratr  lationi 
ipon  your  safe  arrival  in  your  native  place.  I  hope  it  is  your  inten- 
ioa  to  pass  the  remainder  of  your  days  with  us  1 

Oph.  Well   Deacon,  I  have  come  here  with  that  express  purpose. 

Dea    I  presume  you  were  not  over-pleased  with  the  South  1 

Oph.  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Deacon,  I  wasn't;  I  like<?  'th« 
•ountry  vory  well,  but  the  people  there  arc  so  dreadful  shiftless. 

Dea.  The  result,  I  presume,  of  living  in  a  warm  climate. 

Oph.  Well,  Deacon,  what  is  the  news  among  you  all  here  '' 

~)eai    Well,  we  live  o«  in  the  same  even   io«-trot  oace      Nothing  rt 


<rrr<n,K  TOM  •  C»B  «.  41 


«.  y  conseqatice  has  happened — Oh  !  I  forgoU    [Takes  out  hu 
*+rchief.]  I've  lost  my  wife ;  my  Molly  has  left  me.    [  Wipes  histyet 

Oph.  Poor  soul !     I  pity  you,  Deacon. 

D«a.  Thank  you.     You  perceive  I  bear  my  loss  with  resignation. 

Oph.  How  you  must  miss  her  tongue  ! 

Deo.  Molly  certainly  was  fond  of  talking.  She  always  would  hav* 
aie  last  word — heigho ! 

Oph.  What  was  her  complaint,  Deacon  1 

Dea.  A  very  mild  and  soothing  one,  Miss  Ophelia  •  she  had  i  •« 
•t»ie  attack  of  the  lockjaw 

Oph    Dreadful ! 

Dea.  Wasn't  it!  When  she  found  she  couldn't  use  her  tongue,  sh* 
.ok  it  so  much  to  heart  that  it  struck  to  her  stomach  and  killed  her. 
Poor  dear  !  Excuse  my  handkerchief;  she's  been  dead  only  eighteet 
months. 

Oph.  Why,  Deacon,  by  this  time  you  ought  to  be  setting  your  cap 
for  another  wife. 

Dea.   Do  you  think  so,  Miss  Ophelia  ? 

Oph.  \  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't — you  are  still  a  good-looking 
•nan,  Dwdcon. 

Dea.  Ah!  well  I  think  I  do  wear  well — in  fact,  I  may  say  r»- 
•uarkably  well.  It  has  been  observed  to  me  before. 

Oph    And  you  are  not  much  over  fifty  ? 

Dea.  Just  turned  of  forty,  I  assure  you. 

Oph.  Hale  and  hearty  7 

Dea.  Health  excellent — look  at  my  eye  !  Strong  as  a  lion — l*>ok  a! 
iiy  arm  !  !  A  No.  1  constitution — look  at  my  leg  ! ! ! 

Oph.   Elave  you  no  thoughts  of  choosing  another  partner  1 

Dea.   Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have. 

Oph.  Who  is  she  1 

Dea.  She  is  is  not  far  distant.  [Looks  at  OPHELIA  in  a  anguishini 
manner.}  I  havo  her  in  my  eye  at  this  present  moment. 

Oph.  [Aside. \  Really,  I  believe  he's  going  to  pop.  Why,  surely 
Deacon,  you  don't  mean  to — 

Dea.   Yes,  Miss  Ophelia,  1  do  mean  ;  and  believe  me,  when  I  say- 
Looking  off,  R.  I  s,]  The  Lord  be  good  to  us,  but  I  believe  t'.ere  i» 
'l;e  devil  coming  ! 

v'  PST  runs  on,  R.  1  B.,  with  bouquet.  She  u  nou  Iressed  tery  neatly 

Top.  Miss  Feely,  here  is  some  flowers  dat  1  hab  been  gathering  f< 
<  <u.  (  Gires  bought 

Oph    That's  a  good    rhild. 

Dea.  Miss  Ophelia,  who  is  this  young  person  7 

Oph.  She  is  my  daughter. 

Dta.  [Aside.]  Her  daughter  !  Then  she  must  have  married  a  c«i 
tied  man  off  South.  I  was  rot  aware  that  you  had  been  rnarrieo 
Miss  Ophelia  ? 

Oph.  Married !  Sakes  alive !  what  made  you  think  I  had  i>e« 
ruarr\i«d  >' 

o  a     Guo.1  trracioiiN      I'm   r««'t,i-vy   ro'if'nseM        Didn't    |     uniidraiam 


*4  ITKiri,B    TOM  •    OA8TH 

foi  to  My  that  this — somewhat  tanned — yonig  lady  wu  yon. 
laughter  1 

Oph.  Only  by  adoption.     She  is  my  adopted  d  mghter. 

Deo.  0 — oh  !  [^4««d«.J  I  breaJhe  again. 

Tap.  [Aside.]  By  Golly  !  dat  old  man's  eyes  ,  tick  oat  of  'am  hwxl 
li^'ful  Guess  he  never  seed  anything  like  me  «  fore 

Oph.  Deacon,  won't  you  step  into  the  house  md  refresh  youraell 
tfttr  your  walk  1 

Deu.  I  accept  your  polite  invitation.    [Offer*  \is  arm.]    Allow  me 

Oph.  As  gallant  as  ever,  Deacon.  1  declate,  you  grow  young*j 
.•very  day. 

Dea.  You  can  never  grow  old,  madam. 

Oph.  Ah,  you  flatterer'  [Exeunt,  K.  1  K 

Top.  Dar  dey  go,  like  an  old  goose  and  gander.  Guess  dat  ol« 
gemblemun  feels  kind  of  confectionary — rather  sweet  on  my  old  mis 
sis.  By  Golly  !  she's  been  dre'ful  kind  to  me  ever  since  I  come  away 
from  de  South ;  and  I  loves  her,  I  does,  'cause  she  takes  such  car'  on 
me  and  gives  me  dese  fine  clothes.  I  tries  to  be  good  too,  and  I's 
getting  long  'inazin'  fast.  I's  not  so  wicked  as  I  used  to  was  [Lookt 
out,  u  I  B.]  Holloa!  dar's  some  one  comin'  heie.  I  wonder  what  he 
•vants  now.  [Retires,  observing. 

Sitter  GUMP«"IO»  CUTE,  L.  1  B.,  very  shabby—  i  small  bundle,  on  a 
ftiek,  over  his  shoulder 

Cute.  By  chowder,  here  I  am  again.  Phew  •  it's  a  pretty  consider 
able  tall  piece  of  walking  between  here  and  N-«v  Orleans,  not  to  men 
tion  the  wear  of  shoe-leather.  I  guess  I'm  about  done  up.  If  this 
stn?ak  of  bad  luck  lasts  much  longer,  I'll  borrow  sixpence  to  buy  a 
rope,  and  hang  myself  right  straight  up  !  When  I  went  to  call  or. 
Miss  Ophelia,  I  swow  if  I  didn't  find  out  that  she  had  left  for  Ver 
mont ;  so  I  kind  of  concluded  to  make  tracks  in  that  direction  myself 
and  as  I  didn't  have  any  money  left,  why  I  had  to  foot  it,  and  here  i 
am  in  old  Varmount  once  more.  They  told  me  Miss  Ophelia  lived  up 
nere.  I  wonder  if  she  will  remember  the  relationship  [Sees  TOPBY.] 
By  chowder,  there's  a  darkey.  Look  here,  Charcoal ! 

^"P    [Comes  forward,  K.  H.]  My  name  isn't  Charcoal — it's  Topsy 

Cute.  Oh  !  your  name  is  Topsy,  is  it,  you  juvenile  specimen  of  Dtj 
fe  Martii  '' 

Top.  Tell  you  I  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  Day  &  Martin.  I>  Top*; 
and  I  belong  to  Miss  Feely  St.  Clare. 

Cute.  I'm  much  obleeged  to  you,  you  small  extract  of  J*pan,  f« 
your  information.  So  Miss  Ophelia  lives  up  iherc  in  the  wVi*«  hooM 
toes  she  1  [  Pointi,  »  *  I. 

Top.  Well,  she  don't  do  nothin'  else. 

Cute.  Well,  then,  just  locomote  your  pins 

Tup.  What — what's  datl 

Cute.  Walk  your  chalks  ! 

Top.  By  Golly  !  dere  ain't  no  chalk  "bout  me. 

OtU.  Move  y~ur  trotters. 

Top    H"»w  you  does  spoke  !     What  von  mear  V>\ 


(THCI.I    TOlf'B    OABTH  44 

Out*.  Why,  your  feel,  Stove  Polish. 

Top.  What  does  you  want  me  to  move  my  feet  for'f 

Cute.  To  tell  your  mistress,  yon  ebony  angel,  that  a  gt.  Jem&i 
Dishes  to  see  her. 

Top.  Does  you  call  yourself  a  gentleman  't  By  Golly  !  yoa  look 
uore  like  A  scar'crow. 

Cutt.  Now  look  here,  you  Charcoal,  don't  you  be  sassy.  I'm  a 
icntleman  in  distress;  a  done-up  speculator ;  one  that  has  seen  bettei 
iays  —long  time  ago — and  better  clothes  too,  by  chowder !  My  cm 
litors  are  like  my  boots — they've  no  soles.  I'm  a  victim  to  dream 
nances.  I've  been  through  much  and  survived  it.  I've  taken  walk 
,ag  exercise  for  the  benefit  of  my  health  ;  but  as  I  was  trying  to  liva 
>ft  air  at  the  same  time,  it  was  a  losing  speculation,  'cause  it  gave  in* 
•iuch  a  dreadful  appetite. 

Top    Golly  !  you  look  as  if  you  could  eat,  an  ox,  horns  and  all. 

Cute.  Well,  I  calculate  I  could,  if  he  was  roasted — it's  a  specula 
Jon  I  should  like  to  engage  in.  I  have  returned  like  the  fellow  that 
.un  away  in  Scripture;  and  if  anybody's  2ot  a  fatted  calf  they  want 
U)  kill,  all  they  got  to  do  is  to  fetch  him  along.  Do  you  know,  Chir- 
"•.oal,  that  your  mistress  is  a  relation  of  mine1? 

Top.  Is  she  your  uncle  1 

Cute.  No,  no,  not  quite  so  near  as  that.  My  second  cousin  married 
ler  niece. 

Top.  And  does  you  want  to  see  Miss  Feely  1 

Cute.  I  do.  I  have  come  to  seek  a  home  beneath  her  roof,  and 
lake  care  of  all  the  spare  change  she  don't  want  to  use. 

Top.  Den  just  you  follow  me,  mas'r. 

Cute.  Stop  !  By  chowder,  I've  got  a  great  idee.  Say,  you  Day  & 
Martin,  how  should  you  like  to  enter  into  a  speculation  1 

Top.  Golly  !  1  doesn't  know  what  a  spec — spec — cu — what-do- 
you-call-'um  am. 

Cute.  Well,  now,  I  calculate  I've  hit  upon  about  the  right  thing. 
Why  should  I  degrade  the  manly  dignity  of  the  Cutes  by  becoming 
a  beggar — expose  myself  to  the  chance  of  receiving  the  cold  shouldei 
is  a  poor  relation  7  By  chowder,  my  blood  biles  as  I  think  of  it ' 
Topsy,  yon  can  make  my  fortune,  and  your  own,  too.  I've  an  ide* 
n  my  head  that  is  worth  a  million  of  dollars. 

Top.  Golly!  is  your  head  worth  datl  Guess  you  wouldn't  biiLg 
itt  out  South  for  de  whole  of  you. 

Cute.  Don't  you  be  too  severe,  now,  Charcoal ;  I'm  a  man  of  genius, 
'id  you  ever  hear  of  Barnum  1 

Top.  Barnum  !  Barnum  !     Does  he  live  out  South  1 

Cute  No,  he  lives  in  New  York.  Do  you  know  how  he  made  hii 
*>rtin  1 

Top.  What  is  him  fortin,  hey  1     Is  it  something  he  wears  • 

Cute    Chowder,  how  green  you  are ' 

Top.  I  Indignantly.]  Sar,  I  hab  you  to  know  I's  not  g  ecu  j  I's 
^  ack. 

Oiut«    To  h«  *ure  vou  are.  Day  &  Martm       I  calculate,  wher  •  o«»r 


tft  rrHCI.K   TOM'S    CAB1W 

ion  lays  another  baa  a  fortune,  he  means  he's  no.  pi*ni»  »,f  tuoo*> 
Charcoal. 

Top.  And  did  he  make  the  money  1 

Cutt.  Sartin  sure,  and  no  mistake. 

Top.  Golly !  now  I  thought  money  always  growed. 

Jute.  Oh,  git  out!     You  are  too  cute — you  are  caterer  Mian  I  ir" 
and  I'm  Cute  by  name  and  cute  by  nature.     Well,  as  I  wa*  wyjLj 
Ban  nun  made  his  money  by  exhibiting  a  woolly  horse;  tmw  woultir 
fc  be  an  all-firtd  speculation  to  show  you  as  the  woolly  ual  1 

Top    You  want  to  make  a  sight  of  me  1 

Cute.  I'll  give  you  half  the  receipts,  by  chowder  ! 

Top.  Should  I  have  to  leave  Miss  Feely  1 

Cute.  To  be  sure  you  would, 

Top.  Den  you  hab  to  get  a  woolly  gal  somewhere  else,  Mas'r  C«u 

[  Hit  H.I  of,  h    1  R 

Cute.  There'  another  speculation  gone  to  smash,  by  chowder! 

\Exit,  R.  \  K 

SCENE  III.— A  Rude  Chamber. 

TOM  is  discoverd,  tn  old  clothes,  seated  on  a  stool,  c. — he  holds  t»  in 
hand  a  paper  containing  a  curl  of  EVA'S  hair  The  scene  opens  tc 
the  symphony  of  "Ola  Folks  at  Home." 

Tom.  I  have  come  to  de  dark  places  ;  I's  going  through  de  vale  o, 
shadows.  My  heart  sinks  at  times  and  feels  just  like  a  big  lump  of  lead 
Den  it  gits  up  in  my  throat  and  chokes  me  till  de  tears  roH  out  of  ray 
eyes;  den  I  take  out  dis  curl  of  little  Miss  Eva's  hair,  and  the  siglsi 
of  it  brings  calm  to  my  mind  and  I  feels  strong  again.  [Kisses  tht 
ntrl  and  puts  it  tn  his  breast — takes  out  a  silver  dollar,  which  is  SMS 
pended  around  his  neck  fcy  a  string.]  Dere's  de  bright  silver  dollar 
dat  Mas'r  George  Shelby  gave  me  the  day  I  was  sold  away  from  old 
Kentuck.  and  I've  kept  it  ever  since.  Mas'r  George  must  have  grown 
to  be  a  man  by  this  time.  1  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  see  him  again. 

SONG.— "Old  Polks  at  Home." 
Enter  LEOREB,  EMMELINK,  SAMBO  and  QUIMBO,  L.  a. 

tjtg.  Shut  up,  you  black  cuss  !  Did  you  think  I  wanted  any  ji 
?our  infernal  howling  1  f  Turns  to  EMMBLINE.J  We're  home.  |  EMMB 
bis*  shrinks  from  him.  Tie  takes  hold  of  her  ear  ]  You  didn't  evei 
irear  earrings  1 

Kmme.  [Trembling.]  No,  master. 

Leg.  Well  I'll  give  you  a  pair,  if  you  re  a  good  girl.  You  'eedn'J 
fee  so  frightened ;  I  don't  mean  to  make  you  work  very  hani.  Yon'l 
have  fine  times  with  me  and  live  like  a  lady  ,  onl"  be  a  good  girl. 

Emme.  My  soul  sickens  as  his  eyt-s  <;aze  upon  ms.  His  toncl 
makes  my  very  flesh  creep. 

Leg.  [Twnu  to  Ton,  and  points  to  SAMBO  and  QDIMBO.J  Ye  set 
what  ye  d  get  if  ys'd  try  to  rur  off  These  yer  boys  have  been  raised 
»•  t-n«.b  ri0aer*  a*MJ  th»v'H  inwt  a."  soon  chaw  oiu>  on  v«>  -iji  an  9» 


•7VCLI    TOM'S    CABIS. 

ifieit  suj>i*Mh  ,    *o  iniud   yourself.     [To  £MMBUHB.J    Corns,  in 
ron  go  in  liere  with  me. 

|  Taking  EMMKLI.NE  8  kand,  and  leading  ktr  toward*  a.  o    I. 

ISmme.  [  Withdrawing    \er   hand,  and  shrinking  back.]  No.  no 
•i  mt  work  in  the  fields  ;  I  don't  want  to  be  a  lady. 

T*g.  Oh  !  you're  going  to  be  contrary,  are  you  7     I'll  «oon  lak< 
that  out  of  you 

&mwie.  K'.ll  me   if  you  will. 

L*g.  Oh  !    you    vvant  to  be  killed,  do  you  1     Now  come  here,  ycii 

ca,  vou  see  I  told  you  I  didn't  buy  you  jest  for  the  common  work 

mean  to  promote  you  and  make  a  driver  of  you,  and  to-night  y« 
i.  ay  jest  as  well  begin  to  get  yer  hand  in.  Now  ye  jest  take  this  yei 
(ii,  and  ftcg  her  ,  ye've  seen  enough  on't  to  know  how 

Tom.  I  beg  mas'rs  pardon — hopes  mas'r  won't  set  me  at  that.  lt'» 
*hat  1  a'nt  used  10— i.ever  did,  and  can't  do — no  way  possible. 

Leg.  YV11  larn  a  pretty  smart  chance  of  things  ye  never  did  know 
before  I've  done  with  ye.  [Strikes  TOM  with  whip,  thrte  blows. — Mu 
'ic  chord  each  blow.]  There !  now  will  ye  tell  me  ye  can't  do  it  1 

Tom.  Yes,  nuis'r !  I'm  willing  to  work  night  and  day,  and  work 
.vhi.e  there's  life  and  breath  in  mo;  but  this  yer  thing  I  can't  feel  it 
right  to  do,  and,  mas'r,  I  never  shall  do  it,  never  ! 

Ley  What !  ye  black  beast !  tell  me  ye  don't  think  it  right  to  rli 
vvliat  1  tell  ye!  What  have  any  of  you  cussed  cattle  to  do  will 
ihinkiiiH  what's  right?  I'll  put  a  stop  to  it.  Why,  what  do  \t 
think  ye  are  ]  May  be  ye  think  yer  a  gentleman,  master  Tom,  to  bf 
telling  your  master  what's  right  and  what  a'nt !  So  you  pretend  it '» 
wrong  to  flog  the  gal  1 

Tom.  I  think  so.  mas'r;  'twould  be  downright  cruel,  and  it's  what 
1  never  will  do,  mas'r.  If  you  mean  to  kill  me,  kill  me  ,  but  a«  \>- 
raising  ray  hand  agin  any  one  here.  I  never  shall — I'll  die  first! 

Leg.  Well,  here's  a  pious  dog  at  last,  let  down  among  us  sinners— 
powerful  holy  critter  he  must  be.  Here,  you  rascal !  you  make  be 
lieve  to  be  so  pious,  didn't  you  never  read  out  of  your  Bible,  "  Ser 
vants,  obey  your  masters!"  An't  I  your  master  1  Didn't  I  pa' 
twelve  hundred  dollars,  cash,  for  all  there  is  inside  your  cussed  old 
t>lack  shell  1  An't  you  mine,  body  and  soul  1 

Tom.  No.no!  My  soul  a'nt  youn,  mas'r  ;  you  haven't  bought  it— 
•/e  can't  buy  it  it's  been  bought  and  paid  for  by  one  that  is  able  U 
keep  it,  and  ye  can't  harm  it ! 

Leg.  I  can't  1  we'll  see,  we'H  see  !  Here,  Sambo  !  Quimbo  '  giv« 
;jus  dog  such  a  breaking  in  as  he  won't  get  over  this  mouth  ! 

Smm*.  Oh,  ivo  !  you  will  not  be  so  cruel — have  some  mercy  ! 

\Cl\ngs  to  TOM. 

L«g  Mercy  1  you  won't  find  any  in  i!iN  shop!  A  vay  with  th# 
>lack  cuss!  Floa  him  within  an  inch  of  Ins  lito1 

Vimc — SAMBO  and  QOIMBO  snze  TOM  and  drag  him  up  »tagt 
LK«BSK  seizes  EMMKLINB,  a-\d  throws  her  round  to  a.  H  —  She  folk 
on  her  knees,  with  her  hands  lifted  in  supplication. — LBOB^' 
'Mi***1  Aw  whip,  is  if  to  strike  TOM.  —Picture  —  (Tlosed  in 


M  f.N.  I,K    TOM'S    CABIH. 

SCENE  IV.— Plain  Chamber 
Sitter  OPHELIA,  followed  by  TOPST,  L.  •. 

Opk.  A  persoE  inquiring  for  me,  did  you  say,  Topty  1 

Top.  Yes,  missis. 

Opk    What  kind  of  a  looking  man  is  he  1 

fyf.  By  golly !  \\9fa  very  queer  looking  man,  anyway  ;  and  den  to 
*Jks  so  dre'ful  funny.  What  does  you  think  1 — yah  !  yah  !  he  waM 
««  to  '«lbite  me  as  de  woolly  gal !  yah  !  yah  ! 

Opk.  Oh !  I  understand.  Some  cute  Yankee,  who  wants  to  pur 
ia*e  j  on,  to  make  a  show  of — the  heartless  wretch  ! 

fop.  Dat's  just  him,  missis  ;  dat's  just  his  name.  He  tole  me  da) 
'„  was  Cute — Mr.  Cute  Speculashum — dat's  him. 

Oph.  What  did  you  say  to  him,  Topsy  ? 

Top.  Wall,  I  didn't  say  much,  it  was  brief  and  to  the  point — I  tolt 
aim  I  wouldn't  leave  you,  Miss  Feely,  no  how. 

Opk.  That's  right,  Topsy ;  you  know  you  are  very  comfortable 
here — you  wouldn't  fare  quite  so  well  if  you  went  away  among 
Grangers. 

Top.  By  golly  !  I  know  dat ;  you  takes  care  on  me,  and  makes  me 
stood.  I  don't  steal  any  now,  and  I  don't  swar,  and  I  don't  danct 
Breakdowns.  Oh  !  I  isn't  so  wicked  as  I  used  to  was. 

Opk.  That's  right,  Topsy ;  now  show  the  gentleman,  or  whatev*i 
He  is,  up. 

Top.  By  golly  '     1  guess  he  won't  make  much  out  of  Miss  Feely. 

[Crosses  to  R.,  and  exit  R.  1  K. 

Opk.  I  wonder  who  this  person  can  be  1  Perhaps  H  is  some  old 
acquaintance,  who  has  heard  of  my  arrival,  and  who  comes  on  • 
social  visit 

Enter  COTE,  R.  1  K. 

Cute.  Aunt,  how  do  ye  do  1  Well,  I  swan,  the  sight  of  you  is  good 
for  weak  eyes.  [Offers  his  hand. 

Oph.  [Coldly  drawing  back.]  Really,  sir,  I  can't  say  that  I  evei 
h#d  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  before. 

Cutt.  Well,  it's  a  fact  that  you  never  did.  You  see  I  never  hap 
pened  to  be  in  your  neighborhood  afore  now.  Of  course  yon'v* 
aeard  of  me  1  I'm  one  <>'  the  Cutes — Gumption  Cuto,  the  first  and 
•?r.ly  son  of  Josiah  and  Maria  Cute,  of  Oniontown,  on  the  Onion  riv** 
-  the  north  part  of  this  ere  State  of  Varmount. 

Oph.  Can't  say  I  ever  hetird  the  name  before. 

Outt  Well  then,  I  calculate  your  memory  must  be  a  little  rickestj 
m  a  relation  of  yours. 

Cph.  A  relation  of  *nine!  Why,  I  neve-  heard  of  any  Cotes  in  001 
amlly. 

Cute  Well,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  never  did.  Don't  yoo  re 
comber  your  niece,  Mary  1 

Opk.  Of  co-irse  I  do.     What  a  shiftless  question  ! 

Vutt.  Well,  you  see  my  second  cousin,  Abijah  Blake,  married  b*» 
10  voo  »e(>  viiat  makes  me  a  relation  of  vourB. 


PftRLB   TOM'S    CABIB.  M 

OpA.  Rather  a  distaut  ono,  1  should  say. 

C"u<«.  By  chowder  !  I'm  near  enough,  just  at  prefect. 

Oph.  Well,  you  certainly  are  a  sort  of  connection  of  rain* 

Cute.  Yes,  kind  of  sort  of. 

Oph.  And  of  coarse  you  are  welcome  to  my  house,  u  ioug  M  to* 
:hoose  to  make  it  your  home. 

Cute.  By  chowder  !  I'm  booked  for  the  next  six  month* — t,hw  am  • 
•  bad  speculation. 

Oph.  I  hope  you  left  all  your  folks  well  at  home  1 

Cute.  Well,  yes,  they're  pretty  comfortably  disposed  of  Path* 
•ad  mother's  dead,  and  Uncle  Josh  has  gone  to  California.  I  am  th* 
.•nly  representative  af  the  Cutes  left. 

Oph.  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  great  deal  of  you  left.  I  declare 
fou  are  positively  in  rags. 

Cute.  Well,  you  see,  the  fact  is,  I've  been  s[>«culatir)g — trying  u 
s*pt  bank-notes — specie-rags,  as  they  say — but  I  calculate  I've  turned 
out  rags  of  another  sort. 

Oph.  I'm  sorry  for  your  ill  luck,  but  1  am  afraid  you  have  beer 
•riiftless. 

Cute.  By  chowder  !  I've  done  all  that  a  fellow  could  do.  You  see 
-niipliow,  everything  I  take  hold  of  kind  of  bursts  up. 

Oph.  Well,  well,  perhaps  you'll  do  better  for  the  future ;  inakt 
yourself  at  home.  I  have  got  to  see  to  some  household  matters,  &>• 
excuse  me  for  a  short  time.  [Afide.]  Impudent  and  shiftless. 

[Erit  u  1  B 

Cute.  By  chowde:  !  I  rather  guess  that  this  speculation  will  hitch 
She's  a  good-natured  old  critter;  I  reckon  I'll  be  a  son  to  her  whil« 
the  lives,  and  take  care  of  her  valuables  arter  she's  a  defunct  de- 
farted.  I  wonder  if  they  keep  the  vittles  in  this  ere  room  7  Ones* 
'ml.  I've  got  extensive  accommodations  for  all  sorts  of  eatables 
I'm  a  regular  vacuum,  throughout — pockets  and  all.  I'm  chuck 
lull  of  emptiness.  [Looks  out,  K.  H.]  Holloa  !  who's  this  elder'} 
individual  corning  up  stairs  1  He  looks  like  a  compound  essence  o. 
•iturch  and  dignity.  I  wonder  if  he  isn't  another  relation  of  uiin* 
f  -,/hould  like  a  rich  old  fellow  now  for  an  uncle. 

Enter  DBACOI  PRRBT,  E.  1  B. 

Dea.  Ha  '  a  straner  here  ' 

Cute.  How  d'ye  do  1 

Dea.  You  are  a  friend  to  Miss  Ophelia,  I  presume  • 

Cute.  Well.  I  rather  calculate  that  I  am  a  leetlemore  thi  i  a  frteno. 

Dea.  [Aside.]  Bless  me!    what  can  he  mean  by  those  tmsteriou 

•rords  7     Can  he  be  her no  I  don't  think  he  can.     She  laid  *b 

asn't well,  at  all  events,  it's  very  suspicious. 

Cute    The  old  fellow  seems  kind  of  stuck  up. 

D*a.  You  are  &  particular  friend  to  Miss  Ophelia,  yon  say  ? 

O*te    Well,  I  calculate  I  am. 

t>«a    fiound  to  her  by  any  tender  tie  1 

CV»».   Jt'i  something  more  than  a  tie — it's  a  regular  donhla-twiMM1 


W  DHOLE    TOM '8   OABIK. 

D*a.  Ah  1  Just  a*  1  suspected.  \_And*. \  Might  1  inquire  the  n*inn 
*  that  HP  ? 

Cut*.  Well,  it  »  the  natural  tie  of  relationship 

Dta.  A  relation — what  relation  \ 

Cute.  Why,  you  see,  my  second  cousin,  Abijah  Blake,  married  b* 
iioce,  Mary. 

Dea.  Oh  !  is  that  all  ? 

Cute.   By  chowder,  ain't  that  enough  1 

Dea.  Then  you  are  not  her  husband  ? 

Cute.  To  be  sure  I  ain't.    What  put  that  ere  idee  into  youi  cranium  : 

Dea.  [Shaking  him  vigorously  by  the  \and.^  My  dear  sir,  I'm  d» 
lighted  to  see  you. 

Cute.  Holloa  !  you  ai'nt  going  slightly  insane,  are  you  1 

Dea.  No,  no  fear  or  that ;  I'm  only  happy,  that's  all. 

Cute.  I  wonder  if  he's  been  taking  a  nipper? 

Dea.  As  you  are  a  relation  of  Miss  Ophelia's,  I  think  it  prot»ei 
ihat  I  should  make  you  my  confidant.;  in  fact,  let  you  into  a  littlv 
scheme  that  1  have  lately  conceived. 

Outt.  Is  it  a  speculation  ] 

Dea.  Well,  it  is,  just  at  present ;  but  I  trust  before  many  hours  u 
make  it  a  surety. 

CuU.  By  chowder  !  I  hope  it  wop't  serve  you  the  way  my  sjiecu 
lations  have  served  me.  But  fire  away,  old  boy,  and  give  us  the  pro^ 
ipectus. 

Dea.  Well,  then,  my  young  friend,  I  have  been  thinking,  ever  sine* 
Miss  Ophelia  returned  to  Vermont,  that  she  was  just  the  person  U 
fill  the  place  of  my  lamented  Molly. 

Cute  Say,  you,  you  couldn't  tea  us  who  your  lamented  Molly  wag 
-ionic!  you  1 

Dea.  Why,  the  late  Mrs.  Perry,  to  be  sure. 

Cute.  Oh  !  then  the  lamented  Polly  was  your  wife  1 

Dea.  She  was. 

Cute.  And  now  yon  wish  to  marry  Miss  Ophelia  1 

Dea.  Exactly. 

Cute.  [Aside.]  Consarn  this  old  porpoise  !  if  I  let  him  do  that  lie  I 
Jew  me  out  of  my  living.  By  chowder  t  I'll  put  a  spoke  in  his  wheel 

Dea.  Well,  what  do  yon  say  1  will  you  intercede  for  me  with  yuu 
MDfcl 

Cute.  No !  bust  me  up  if  I  do  I 

Dea.  No? 

Cute.  No,  I  tell  you.  I  forbid  the  bans.  Now,  ain't  you  a  part, 
individual,  to  talk  about  getting  married,  you  old  superannu  ttec 
Methuselah  specimen  of  humanity  !  Why,  you've  got  one  foot  it 
otarnity  already,  and  t'other  ain't  fit  to  stand  on.  Oo  home  and  go  U 
bed  !  have  your  head  shaved,  and  send  for  a  lawyer  to  make  you? 
will,  leave  your  property  to  your  heirs — if  you  hain't  got  any,  whj 
leave  it  to  me — I'll  take  care  of  it,  and  charge  nothing  for  the  Iron 
ble. 

Dea.  Really,  sir,  this  language  to  one  of  my  standing,  is  highly  in 
decorous — it's  more,  sir,  than   I    feol  willing  to  endure,  air.     I  sha! 
an  explanation,  .7™ 


-MOM!    TOM'8    CABIII  M 

New,  you  see,  old  gouty  toes,  you're  Vwiug  your  U,u»t«r. 

Dta.  Sir,  I'm  a  deacon  ;  I  never  lost  my  tempe-  in  all  my  life,  sii 

Cute.  Now,  you  see,  yon're  getting  excited;  you  had  better  go 
ire  can  t  have  a  disturbance  here  i 

Dta  No,  .sir!  I  shall  not  go,  sir'  1  shall  not,  go  antil  1  have  sett 
Miss  Ophelia.  I  wish  to  know  if  she  will  countenance  this  insult 

Cute.  Now  keep  cool,  old  stick  in  the-tiud !  Draw  it  mild,  old 
^nber-toes ! 

Ota    Damn  it  all,  sir,  what — 

Cute.  Oh  !  only  thi'.k.  now,  what  would  people  say  to  hear  a  deft- 
•.«)u  swearing  like  a  trooper? 

Vea.  Sir — 1 — yon — this  is  too  much,  sir. 

Cute.  Well,  now,  I  calculate  that's  just  about  my  opinion,  so  we  11 
idve  no  more  of  it.  Get  out  of  this  !  start  your  boots,  or  by  chow- 
lar!  I'll  pilch  you  from  one  eend  of  the  stairs  to  the  other 

Enter  OPHELIA,  L.  a. 

Oph.  \Crvtving  to  c.j  Hoity  toity  '  What's  the  meaning  of  ali 
these  loiid  words. 

Jute,  i    ,  rr,  i  \    Well,  you  see,  Aunt — 

r>        :-   \Toqether.    <   ...      A  i    i-      t  i 
Dta..  )    l      y  i   Miss  Ophelia,  I  beg — 

Cute.  Now,  look  here,  you  just  hush  your  yap!  How  can  I  fix  ui 
•natters  if  you  keep  jabbering  1 

Oph.  Silence'  fur  shame,  Mr.  Cute.  Is  that  the  way  you  spea*  u 
the  deacob  ? 

Cute.  Darn  the  deacon! 

(-(fA.  Deacon  Perry,  what  is  all  this  1 

Ifea.  Madam,  a  few  words  will  explain  everything.  Hearing  froac 
this  person  that  he  was  your  nephew,  I  ventured  to  leil  him  thut  ' 
cherished  hopes  «f  making  you  my  wife,  whereupon  he  dew  into  : 
violent  passion,  and  ordered  me  out  of  the  house. 

Oph,  Does  this  house  belong  to  you  or  me,  Mr.  Cute  i 

Cute.  Well,  to  you,  I  reckon. 

Oph.  Then  how  dare  you  give  orders  in  it  ? 

Cute.  Well,  1  calculated  that  you  wouldn't  care  about  marrying  olo 
half  a  century  there. 

Oph.  That's  enough ,  I  will  marry  him  ,  and  as  for  you,  (jP6>tn£> 
*.  H.J  get  out. 

Cmte.  Get  out  1 

Oph.  Yes  ;  the  sooner  the  better. 

Cute.  Darned  if  I  do  )'t  serve  him  out  first    though. 
lf-uj\c. — CDTB  makes  a  dash  at  DEACOM,  who  gett  behind  OPHKT.  > 

TOPHT  enters,  R.  H.,  vnth  a  broom   and  beats  CUTB  around  stayt. 

U*  in   DKACOM'S  arms. — CDTB  fall»,  and  TOWT  butt 
k*'€l\*q  over  him. — Quick  drop. 

8MD  or   AC*  V. 


0HCLB    TOM'S    CAM* 


ACT     VI. 
SCENE  1  -Dark  Landtcapt.—An  old,  rooflet$  Shed,  tot. 

Foil  u  dtse  vered  in  Shed,  lying  on  tome  old  cotton  bagging  — 
kneels  by  his  side,  holding  a  cup  to  his  lipi. 

Catty.  Drink  all  ye  want.  I  knew  how  it  would  be.  It  isn't  the 
irst  t'tue  I've  been  out,  in  tlie  night,  carrying  water  to  such  as  you. 

Tom.  \Returmng  cup.]  Thank  you,  missis. 

Gas.  Uon't  call  rue  missis.  I'm  a  miserable  slave  like  yourself — a 
lower  one  than  you  can  ever  be !  It's  no  use,  my  poor  fellow,  thil 
you've  been  trying  to  do.  You  were  a  brave  fellow.  You  had  the 
right  on  your  side  ;  but  it's  all  in  vain  far  you  to  struggle.  You  are 
in  the  Devil's  hands  :  he  is  the  strongest,  and  you  must  give  up. 

Tom.  Oh  !  how  can  I  give  up  1 

Cat.  You  see  you  don't  know  anything  about  it ;  1  do.  Here  yoc 
are,  on  a  lone  plantation,  ten  miles  from  any  other,  in  the  swamps 
not  a  white  person  here  who  could  testify,  if  you  were  burned  alive. 
There's  no  law  here  that  can  do  you,  or  any  of  us,  the  leas\,  jjod ; 
ind  this  man  !  there's  no  earthly  thing  that  he  is  not  bad  enough  to 
do.  I  could  make  one's  hair  rise,  and  their  teeth  chatter,  if  I  should 
only  tell  what  I've  seen  and  been  knowing  to  here;  and  it's  no  us* 
resisting  1  Did  I  want  to  live  with  him  ?  Wasn't  I  a  woman  deli 
cately  bred '?  and  he  ! — Father  in  Heaven  !  what  was  he  and  is  he  1 
A.nd  yet  I've  lived  with  him  these  five  years,  and  cursed  every 
Moment  <>f  my  lite,  night  and  day. 

Tom.  Oh  heavei: !  have  you  quite  forgot  us  poor  critters  7 

Cat.  And  what  are  these  miserable  low  dogs  you  work  with,  tha 
fou  should  suffer  on  their  account  1  Every  one  of  them  would  tun 
igainst  you  the  tirst  lime  they  get  a  chance.  They  are  all  of  tbi»m  ai 
ow  and  cruel  to  each  other  as  they  can  be ;  there's  no  use  i,.  /our 
mffering  to  keep  from  hurting  them  1 

Tom.  What  made  em  cruel  ?  If  I  give  out  I  shall  get  used  to  it 
and  giow,  little  by  little,  just  like  'em.  No,  no,  Missis,  I've  lost 
everything,  wife,  and  childien,  and  kome,  and  a  kind  master,  and  lu 
would  have  set  me  free  if  he'd  only  lived  a  day  longer — I've  lo«i 
Bverything  in  tkis  world,  and  now  I  can't  lose  heaven,  too  •.  i  >,  I 
can't  get  to  be  wicked  besides  all. 

Cat.  But  it  can't  be  that  He  will  lay  sic  to  our  account ;  he  w  A  i 
cLarge  it  to  us  when  we  are  forced  to  it ;  he'll  charge  it  to  them  that 
drove  us  to  it.  Can  I  do  anything  more  for  you  f  Shall  I  give  you 
ourae  more  water  ? 

Tom  Oh  missis  I  I  wish  you'd  go  to  Him  who  can  give  you  Uvtuj 
raters  > 

OH.  Go  to  him  !     Wb«r*  w  b-  «     Vho  U  he  1 


OHOLB    TOM'S    CABIS 

fom   Our  Ueavenly  Father  ! 

Ca»  I  used  to  see  the  picture  of  him,  ow  the  altar,  «  hon  I  WM  • 
»tirl  bat  A<  *5i*'<  tore/  there's  nothing  here  but  sin,  and  long,  long 
despair  '  There,  thstre,  don't  talk  any  more,  my  poor  fellow.  Try U: 
ileep,  if  you  can.  I  must  hasten  back,  lest  my  absence  be  noted 
Think  cf  iffie  when  I  aiu  gone.  Uncle  Tom,  and  pray,  pray  for  me. 
'Muau. — Exit  CASBT,  L.  n.  K. — TOM  sinks  back  tc  ibif 

SCENE  II.— Street  %n  New  Orleans. 
Enter  GEORUB  SIIKLBT,  R.  1  B. 

Geofgt  At  length  my  mission  of  mercy  is  nearly  finished ,  1  h»T« 
'Cached  my  journey's  end.  I  have  now  bat  to  find  the  house  of  Mr 
gt.  Clare,  re-purchase  old  Uncle  Tom,  and  convey  him  back  to  hii 
wife  and  children  in  old  Kentucky.  Some  one  approaches  ;  he  may 
perhaps  be  able  to  give  me  the  information  1  require.  I  will  accoT 

dm. 

Enter  MARKS,  L.  1  B. 

Pray,  sir,  can  you  tell  me  where  Mr.  St.  Clare  dwells. 

Marki.  Where  I  don't  think  you'll  be  in  a  hurry  to  seek  him 

Oeo.  And  where  is  that  1 

Mark*.  In  the  grave  !  ( Crostet  to  a. 

Geo.  Stay,  sir  !  you  may  be  able  to  give  me  some  information  coi. 
aeniing  Mr.  St.  Clare. 

Marks.  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  I  am  a  lawyer ;  I  can't  afford  to  y*> 
icything. 

Oeo.  But  yon  would  nave  no  objections  to  selling  it  1 

Marks.  Not  the  slightest. 

Geo.  What  do  you  value  it  at  7 

Marks.  Well,  say  five  dollars,  that's  reasonable. 

Oeo.  There  they  are.  \Ovcet  wom«y.j  Now  answer  m«  tc  the  beat 
of  your  ability.  Has  the  death  of  St.  Clare  caused  hJs  slates  bo  W 
wldl 

jfar/u.  It  has. 

Oeo.  How  were  they  sold  1 

Marks.  At  auction — they  went  dirt  cheap. 

Geo.  How  were  they  bought — all  it  one  lot  1 

Marks.  No,  they  went  to  different  bidders. 

7*0.  Was  you  present  at  the  sale  1 

Marks.  I  was. 

Oeo.  Do  yon  remember  seeing  a  negro  among  them  ••ailed  Y<M* 

Marks.  What,  Uncle  Tom  1 

0*0.  The  same — who  bought  him  1 

Marks.  A  Mr.  Legree. 

Geo.   Where  is  his  plantation  1 

Maria.  Up  in  Louisiana,  oc  the  Bed  river ,  but  a  man  oever  <x«U 
led  it,  unless  he  had  been  there  before. 

(rto.  Who  could  I  get  to  direct  me  there  1 

fork:.  W*H    ttranger,  I  don't  know  of   any  one    J«M  ai    ureswnt 


VWCLB    TOM'S    CABIN 

iny self,  could  flud  it  for  you;  it's  such  an    01  -oMhe-w»v  u>s 
;  and  if  you  are  a  mind  to  come  down   handsomely,  wh; .  I  ! 
to  it. 

O^o.  The  reward  shall  be  ample. 

Marks.  Ei'ongh  said,  stranger;  lot's  take  the  steamboat  at  OL-* 

[Exeunt  a    1   8 

SCENE  III.— A  Rough  Cnambei 
Enter  LBQRBE,  L.  H. — Sits. 

Leg.  Plague  on  thai  Sambo,  to  kick  up  this  yer  row  between  \. 
»ud  the  new  hands. 

CASST  steals  on  L.  H.,  and  stands  behind  him. 

The  fellow  won't  be  fit  to  work  for  a  week  now,  right  in  the  pres* 
•)f  the  season. 

Cat.   [R.J  Yes,  just  like  you. 

Leg.  |L.]  Hah!  you  she-devil !  you've  come  back,  have  you  1 

[Aunt. 

Cas.  Yes.  I  have;  come  to  have  my  own  vvay,  too. 

Leg.  You  lie,  you  jade  !  I'll  be  up  to  my  word.  Either  behave 
/ourself,  or  stay  down  in  the  quarters  and  fare  and  work  with  th« 
rest. 

Cat.  I'd  rather,  ten  thousand  times,  live  in  the  dirtiest  hole  at  th« 
Barters,  than  be  under  your  hoof! 

Leg.  But  you  are  under  my  hoof,  for  all  that,  that's  one  comfort ; 
w  sit  down  here  and  listen  to  reason.  [Graspt  her  wrist. 

Cat.  Siiion  Legree,  take  care  !  f  LBOBEK  let's  go  his  hold.]  You're 
afraid  of  ma,  Simon,  and  you've  reason  to  be  ;    for  I've  got  the  Dev 
in  me ! 

Ltg.  I  believe  to  my  soul  you  have.  After  all,  Cassy,  why  can't 
you  be  friends  with  me,  as  you  used  to  1 

Cat.  [Bitterly.]  Used  to! 

Ltg.  I  wish,  Gassy,  you'd  behave  yourself  decently. 

Cas.  You  talk  about  behaving  decently  !  and  what  have  you  been 
doing  1  You  haven't  even  sense  enough  to  keep  from  spoiling  one  ol 
pour  best  hands,  right  in  the  most  pressing  season,  just  for  your  dev 
ilish  temper 

Leg.  1  was  a  fool,  it's  fact,  to  let  aiay  such  brangle  come  np,  JB' 
when  Tom  set  up  his  will  he  had  to  be  broke  in. 

Cas.  You'll  never  break  him  in. 

Leg.  Won't  1 1  I'd  like  to  know  if  I  won't  1  He  .1  be  the  flr* 
Digger  that  ever  come  it  round  me  !  I'll  break  every  boi  e  in  hii  bod; 
but  he  shall  give  up. 

Enter  SAMBO,  L.  H.  ,  with  a  paper  tn  htt  hand,  ttandt  bowing 

Leg-  What's  that,  you  dog  1 

Sam.  It's  a  witch  thing,  mas'r. 

Leg.  A  what1? 

8am.   SometHno  that  niggers  gits  from  witcheg.     Kee?  'em  tn«n« 


nuriF    TOM**    CABIR.  ft* 

•*»i.iiK  wiitm  il.ey  k  floggeii.     He  had  u  *ied  roaud  his  Leek   fflU    t 
black  string. 

LKGREE  takes  the  paper  and  opens  it. — A  tilrer  dollar  drops  on  th» 
ft  age  and  a  long  curl  of  light  hair  twines  around  his  finger 

Jjtif  Damnation.  \Siamptng  and  writhing,  as  if  the  hair  burnec 
Vim.]  Where  did  this  come  from?  Take  it  off!  burn  i<i  up  !  burn  i 
tp  i  [Throws  tht  curl  away.]  What  did  you  bring  it  to  me  for  7 

Sam  [Trembling.]  I  beg  pardon,  mas'r ;  I  thought  you  would  lik. 
<v  see  uiu 

Leg.  Don  i  yuu  bring  me  any  more  of  your  devilish  thing* 
'Shakes  ktsfat  at  .SAMBO  who  runs  off  L  H. — LsaaBl  kicks  the  dol 
W  after  him.]  Blast  it !  where  did  lie  get  that  ]  If  it  didn't  look 
;ust  like  whoo  '  1  iliought  I'd  forgot  that.  Curse  me  if  I  think 
there's  any  such  tiling  as  forgetting  anything,  any  how. 

Cas.  What  is  the  matter  with  you  Legree  1  What  is  there  in  f. 
simple  curl  of  fair  hair  to  appall  a  man  like  you — you  who  are  fa 
rniliar  with  every  form  of  cruelty. 

I  eg.  Gassy,  to  nighi  the  past  has  been  recalled  to  me — the  paat 
that  I  have  so  long  and  vainly  striven  to  forget. 

Cst.   Has  aught  on  this  earth  power  to  move  a  soul  like  thine  1 
Leg    Yes,  for  hard  and  reprobate  as  I   now  seem,  there  has  been 
a  time  when  I   have  been  rocked  on  the  bwsom  of  a  mother,  cradled 
with  prayers  and  pious  hymns,  my  now  seared  brow  bedewed  with 
the  waters  of  holy  baptism. 

Cas.  {Aside.}  What  sweet  memories  of  childhood  can  thus  soften 
lown  that  heart  of  iron  1 

Leg.  In  early  childhood  a  fair-haired  woman  has  led  me,  at  th* 
«oand  of  Sabbath  bells,  to  worship  and  to  pray.  Born  of  a  hard- 
tempered  sire,  on  whom  that  gentle  woman  had  wasted  a  world  o( 
unvalued  love,  I  followed  in  the  steps  of  my  father.  Boisterous,  un 
ruly  and  tyrannical,  1  despised  all  her  counsel,  and  would  have  none 
of  her  reproof,  and,  at  an  early  age,  broke  from  her  to  seek  my  for 
tunes  on  the  sea.  I  never  came  home  but  once  after  that ;  and  then 
rny  mother,  with  the  yearning  of  a  heart  that  must  love  something, 
»nd  had  nothing  else  to  love,  clung  to  me,  and  s.  Tight  with  passion- 
ite  prayers  and  sntreities  io  win  me  from  a  life  ol  sin. 

Can.  That  was  jour  daj  of  grace,  Legree  ;  then  gofd  angels  called 
;o-u,  acid  mercy  h*ld  you  by  the  hand. 

Leg.  My  heart  inly  relented ;  there  was  a  conflict,  but  sic  go^  th* 
nctory,  ar.d  I  set  all  the  foica  of  my  rough  nature  against  the  con 
/ictioi.  of  my  conscience.  I  drank  and  swore,  was  wilder  and  mort 
Brutal  Uian  ever.  And  one  night,  when  my  mother,  in  the  last  agonj 
>f  her  despair,  knelt  at  my  feet,  I  spurned  her  from  me,  threw  he? 
Miiwless  on  the  flooi,  and  with  brutal  curses  fled  to  my  ship. 
Cas.  Th«n  the  fiend  took  thee  for  his  own. 

Leg.  The  next  I  heard  of  my  mother  was  one  night  while  1  wa* 
carousing  among  drunken  companions.  A  leter  was  put  ia  my 
*\ands.  1  opened  it,  and  a  lock  of  long,  curling  hair  fell  from  it,  and 
•win«<l  about  HIV  tinker*  e\ci\  «n  that  lock  twined  but  n«-w  Th« 


86  CWCLI    TOM  8    CABIH 

tetter  told  me  .hat  my  mother  was  dead,  and  thai  dy ...  4  she  »k>».  »n« 
forgav  me !  [Buries  his  fare  in  'it*  hand*. 

Caa.  Why  did  you  not  even  then  renounce  your  evil  ways  i< 

Leg.  There  is  a  dread,  unhallowed  necromancy  of  evil,  that  turn* 
things  sweetest  and  holiest  to  phantoms  of  honor  and  afriiiht.  Thai 
pale,  loving  mother, — her  dying  prayers,  her  forgiving  love. — wrought 
:-n  my  demoniac  heart  of  sin  only  as  a  damning  sentence,  bringing 
vith  it  a  fearful  looking  for  of  judgment  and  fiery  indication. 

Caa.  And  yet  you  would  not  strive  to  avert  the  doom  that  threat 
seed  you. 

Leg.  I  burned  the  lock  of  hair  and  I  burned  the  letter  ,  and  whei 
i  saw  them  hissing  arid  crackling  in  the  flame,  inly  shuddered  as  I 
'ihought  of  everlasting  fires !  I  tried  to  drink  and  revel,  and  swear  away 
the  memory  ;  bat  often  in  the  deep  night,  whose  solemn  stillness  ar 
raigns  the  soul  in  forced  communion  with  itself,  I  have  seen  that  pale 
mother  rising  by  my  bed-side,  and  felt  the  soft  twining  of  that  haii 
around  my  fingers,  'till  the  cold  sweat  would  roll  down  my  face,  and 
[  would  spring  from  my  bed  in  horror — horror  !  [Falls  tn  chair 
— After  a  pause.  ]  What  the  devil  ails  me  1  Large  drops  of  sweat  stand 
on  my  forehead,  and  my  heart  beats  heavy  and  thick  with  fear  I 
thought  I  saw  something  white  rising  and  glimmering  in  the  gloom 
before  me.,  and  it  seemed  to  bear  my  mother's  face !  I  know  om 
thing;  I'll  let  that  fellow  Tom  alone,  after  this.  What  did  1  wain 
with  his  cuss«d  paper  '  I  believe  I  am  bewitched  sure  enough  !  I've 
been  shivering  and  sweating  ever  since  '  Where  did  he  get  that  h;iir  1 
It  couldn't  have  been  that !  I  burn'd  that  up,  I  know  I  did  '  It 
*  •'uid  be  a  joke  if  hair  could  rise  from  the  dead  !  I'll  have  Sambo 
tnd  Quimbo  up  here  to  sing  and  dance  one  of  their  dances,  and  keep 
•jff  these  horrid  notions.  Here,  Sambo  !  Quimbo1  [Exit  L.  1  K. 

Cot.  Yes,  Legree,  that  golden  tress  was  charmed  ;  each  hair  had  in 
it  a  spell  of  terror  and  remorse  for  thee,  and  was  used  by  a  mightier 
power  to  bind  thy  cruel  hands  from  inflicting  uttermost  evil  on  the 
Helpless  !  [Exit  H.  i  « 

SCENE  IV.— Street. 

Sitter  MASKS  a  1  «.,  meeting  CCTTB,  w ho  enter*  L.  1  R.    tressed  tn  «w 
old  faded  uniform. 

Mark*.  By  the  land,  stranger,  but  it  strikes  me  that  I'vt  se/.-c  yot 
">mewhere  before. 

Cute.  By  chowder  !  do  you  know  now  that's  just  what  i  was 
«.'  say  1 

Marks.  Isn't  your  name  Cute  1 

Cute.  You're  right;  I  calculate.     Yonrs  is  Marks.  I  reckon 

Marks.  Just  so. 

fate.  Well,  I  swow,  I'm  glad  if  see  you        [  They  shake   koe* 
Uows  your  wholesome  1 

Marks    Hearty  as  ever.     Well,  who  would    hav*>  thought  at 
wring  you  again.     Why.  J  tbought  vou  wa«  in  Wi-uoni  ? 


','?«:,.«    TOM  ft    CABIN 

(Jute  Well,  NO  .  was.  You  see  1  weui  there  atier  thai  rich  r«la  iioi 
A  ini-rie — but  the  speculation  didn't  turn  out  well 

Marks.   How  so"? 

Cute.  Why,  you  s-.ee,  she  took  a  shine  to  an  old  feilow — Deac<  i 
Abraham  Perry — and  married  him. 

Marks    Oh.  that  rather  put  your  nose  out  of  joir.t  in  that  quaite 

Cute.  Busted  me  right  up,  I  tell  you.  The  Deacon  did  the  hare' 
*ome  thing  though,  he  said  if  I  would  leave  the  neighborhood  and  ? 
>ut  South  again,  he'd  stand  the  damage.  I  calculate  I  didn't  g?> 
aim  much  time  to  change  his  mind,  and  so,  you  see,  here  1  am  aga-i 

Marks.   What  are  you  doing  in  thai,  soldier  rig  1 

Cute.  Oh,  this  is  my  sijjn. 

Marks.   Your  sign  ' 

Cute  Yes  ;  you  see.  I'm  engaged  just  at  present  in  an  all-flred  goo- 
speculation,  I'm  a  Fillibusterow. 

Marks.   A  what  1 

Cute  A  Fillihusterow  '  Don't  you  know  what  that  is  1  It's  Spa 
niah  tor  Cuban  Volunteer,  and  means  a  chap  that  goes  the  whol« 
porker  tor  glory  ati<l  all  that  en-  sort  of  thing, 

Marks    Oh  '  you've  joined  the  order  of  the  Lone  Star  ' 

Cute-  You've  hit  it.  You  see  I  bought  this  uniform  at  a  second 
hand  clothing  store,  I  puts  it  on  and  goes  to  a  benevolent  individua 
tud  I  s;iys  to  him, — appealing  to  his  feelings, — I'm  one  of  the  fellow 
that  went  to  Cuba  and  got  massacred  by  frfae  bloody  Spaniards.  I't 
in  a  destitute  condition — give  me  a  trifle  to  pay  my  passage  back,  8 

can  whop  the  tyrannical  cusses  and  avenge  my  brave  fellow  soger 
vhat  got  slewed  there. 

Marks.  How  pathetic  ' 

Cute.  1  tell  you  it  works  up  the  feelings  of  benevolent  individual* 
Iread fully.  It  draws  tears  from  their  eyes  and  money  from  theh 
pockets.  By  chowder!  one  old  chap  gave  me  a  hundred  dollar*  t< 
help  on  tho  cause. 

Marks.  I  admire  a  genius  like  yours. 

Cute.  But  I  say,  what  are  you  up  to  T 

Marks.  I  am  the  traveling  companion  of  a  young  gentleman  u>  .,., 
tame  of  Shelby,  who  is  going  to  the  plantation  of  a  Mr.  Legree  01 
ihe  Red  River,  to  buy  at  old  darkey  who  used  to  belong  to  hit 
iather. 

Cute.  Legree — Legree  t  Well,  now,  I  calculate  I've  heard  tht 
»re  name  afore. 

Marks.  Do  you  remember  that  man  who  drew  a  bowi<  knife  op  yci 
In  New  Orleans. 

Cute.  By  chowder  !  I  remember  the  circumstance  just  as  w«ll  a 
if  it  was  yesterday  ;  but  I  can't  say  that  I  recollect  much  about  tl* 
man,  for  you  see  I  was  in  something  of  a  hurry  about  that  tim«  »«* 
i'dn't  stop  to  take  a  good  look  at  him. 

Marks.  Well,  that  man  was  this  same  Mr.  Legree. 

Cut*.   Do  VGU  know,  now,  I  should  like  to  pay  that  crittw  off ' 

Mark*.  Then  I'll  give  you  an  opportunity, 
b^wde^-'  how  will  you  <io  that  1 


CVCLB    TOM > 

Marks.  D»  jrn  remember  the  gentleman  that  interfered  betweet 
?on  and  Legree "? 

Out*    Yes—  well! 

Marki,.  He  received  the  blow  that  was  intended  for  you,  \\  d  died 
'rom  the  effects  of  it.  So,  you  see,  Legree  is  a  murderer,  and  w« 
»r«»  only  witnesses  of  the  deed.  His  life  is  in  our  hands. 

Cute.  Let's  have  him  right  up  and  make  him  dance  on  nothing  tc 
.be  tune  of  Yankee  Doodle  '. 

Marks.  Stop  a  bit.  Don't  you  see  a  chance  for  a  profitable 
ioecnlation  1 

Oute.  A  speculation  !  Fire  away,  don't  be  bashful,  I'm  the  man 
y.f  a  speculation. 

Marks.  1  have  made  a  dej  ositiot,  to  the  Governor  of  the  state  ot 
ill  the  particulars  of  that  affa>r  at  Orleans. 

Ouit.  What  did  you  do  that  forl 

Marks.  To  get  a  warrant  for  his  arrest. 

Cute.  Oh !  and  have  you  got  it  1 

Marks.  Yes  ;   here  it  is.  f  Takes  out  paper. 

Cute.  Well,  now,  I  don't  see  how  you  are  going  to  make  an)  thing 
<»y  that  bit  of  paper  1 

Marks.  But  I  do.  I  shall  say  to  Legree,  1  have  got  a  warrant 
against  you  for  murder ;  my  friend,  Mr.  Cute,  and  myself  are  the 
only  witnesses  who  can  appear  against  you.  Give  us  a  thousand  dol 
lars,  and  we  will  tear  the  warrant  and  be  silent. 

Cute.  Then  Mr.  Legree  forks  over  a  thousand  dollars,  and  yo»' 
friend  Cute  pockets  five  hundred  of  it,  is  that  the  calculation  1 

Marks.  If  you  will  join  me  in  tne  undertaking. 

Cute.  I'll  do  it,  by  chowder  ! 

Marks.  Your  hand  to  bind  the  bargain. 

Cute.  I'll  stick  by  you  thro'  thick  and  thin 

Marks.  Enough  said. 

Cute.  Then  shake.  [They shake  handt- 

Marks.  But  I  say,  Cute,  he  may  be  contrary  and  show  fight. 

Cv&e.  Never  mind,  we've  got  the  law  on  our  side,  and  we're  bound 
U>  stir  him  up.  If  hie  don't  c~me  down  handsomely  we'll  present  him 
with  a  neck-tie  made  of  hemp  ! 

Marks.  I  declare  you're  getting  spunky. 

Oute.  Well,  I  reckon,  I  am.  Let's  go  and  have  something  to  dritk. 
fell  yon  what,  Marks,  if  we  don't  get  him,  we'll  have  his  hide,  by 
howder  !  [Exeunt,  arm  in  arm,  B.  1  B. 

SCENE  V.— Sough  Chamber. 

Enter  LRQKEK,  folkmtd  by  SAMBO,  L.  H. 

Leg.  Qo  and  send  Gassy  to  me 

Sam.  Yes  mas'r.  (Rztt  B.  v.  K. 

i^eg.  Curse  the  woman '  she's  got  a  temper  worse  than  the  d«vil 
1  *hat)  do  her  in  injury  one  of  thns«!  days,  if  she  inn  t  careful 


ITWOLB    Toll's    CABT*  M 

Re-enter  SAMBO,  B.  D.  8.,  fr\ghttned. 

at's  I  lie  matter  with,  you  black  scoundrel  ? 

Sam.  S'belp  me  mas'r,  she  isn't  dare. 

Leg.  I  suppose  she's  about  the  house  somewhere  ? 

Sam.  No,  she  isn't,  mas'r ;  I's  been  alt  over  de  house  «x>a  I  san' 
9nd  nothing  of  her  nor  Emmeline. 

Leg.  Bolted,  by  t.ie  Lord  !  Call  out  the  dogs  !  saddle  my  I  orsfc 
•Hop  !  are  you  sure  they  rea'ly  bave  gone? 

Sam.  Yes,  mas'r;  I's  been  in  every  room  'cept  the  haunted  garre; 
tnd  dey  wouldn't  s^o  dere. 

Leg.  I  have  it !  Now,  Sambo,  you  jest  go  and  walk  that  Tom  uj. 
here,  right  away  !  [  Exit  SAMBO,  L.  D  E.  The  old  cuss  is  at  the 
bottom  of  this  yer  whole  matter;  and  I'll  have  it  out  of  his  infernal 
black  hide,  or  I'll  know  the  reason  why  t  I  hate  him — 1  hate  him! 
And  isn't  he  mine?  Can't  I  do  what  I  like  with,  him11  Who's  U 
hinder,  I  wonder  f 

TOM  if  dragged  on  by  SAMBO  and  QCIMBO,  L.  u.  E 

Leg.  [Grimly  confronting  TOM.]  Well,  Tom.  do  you  know  1'vt 
made  up  my  mind  to  kill  you? 

Tom.  It's  very  likely,  Mas'r. 

Leg.  I — have — done — just — that — thing,  Tom,  unless  you'll  tell  me 
*hat  do  you  know  about  these  yer  gals?  [ToMw  silent  \  D'ye  hear* 
•ipeak  ! 

Turn.  I  han't  got  anything  to  tell,  mas'r. 

Leg.  Do  you  dare  to  tell  me,  you  old  black  rascal,  you  don't  know  1 
*>penk  !  Do  you  know  anything  "i 

Tom.  I  know,  mas'r  ;  but  I  can't  tell  anything.     I  can  die  t 

Leg.  Hark  ye,  Tom !  ye  think,  'cause  I  have  let  you  off  before,  1 
don't  mean  what  I  say  ;  but,  this  time,  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  anci 
counted  the  cosi.  You've  always  stood  it  out  agin  me  ;  now,  I'D 
tonquer  ye  or  kill  ye  I  one  or  t'other.  I'll  count  every  drop  of  blood 
there  is  in  you,  and  take  'em,  one  by  one,  'till  ye  give  up  1 

Tom.  Mas'r,  if  you  was  sick,  or  in  trouble,  or  dying,  <md  I  could 
save.  I'd  give  you  my  heart's  blood  ;  aud,  if  taking  every  drop  of  bloo£ 
in  this  poor  old  body  would  save  yoar  precious  soul,  I'd  give  !eni 
freely.  Do  the  worst  you  can,  my  troubles  will  be  over  po»n  ;  but  if 
you  don't  repent  yours  won't  nev  T  end. 

[  LKOREK  strikes  TOM  down  with  tin  bull  of  hit  v  iif- 

Leg.  How  do  you  like  that  ? 

Sam    He's  most  gone,  mas'r  1 

Tom    [Rises  feebly  on  his  hands.}     There  an't  no  more  you  cao  d 
I  forgive  you  with  all  my  soul. 

[5infa  back,  and  is  tarried  off  B.  c.  K.  by  SAMBO  and  QUIMR. 

Leg.  I  believe  he's  done  for  finally.  Well,  his  mouth  is  shut  or  t 
last — that's  one  comfort. 

f-.'"ttr  GKOROK  SHELBY,  MARKS  and  CUTK,  L    i  B 
Strangers!     Well  what  do  you  want? 

Qeo.  I  understand  that  you  bought  in  New  Orleans  a  negr> 
tamed  Tom  ' 


40  PNOLK    TOM'"    CABTR 

Leg    Yes,  1  did  buy  such   a  tellow,  and  a  devil  ot  a  bar  £ftl&  1 
if  it,  too  !    1  believe  ht>'s  trying  to  die.  but  I  don't  know  as  he'll 
t  out. 

'jto.  Where  it<  he  t     Lot  me  nee  him  1 

*»i.  Dere  he  is  !  [Points  to  TOM,  a.  r   R. 

Lag.  Itew  dare  you  speak? 

^  Drive*  SAKBO  and  QCIXBO  off  L.  c.  K.—  GKOUOK  «»/*,  R    o    * 

t'ww,  Now's  the  time  to  nab  him. 

Mi-  is.  Huvv  are  you,  Mr.  Legret  ? 

I,fy,   What  tbe  denl  brought  you  here  ? 

Ma  «.  This  little  bit  of  paper.  I  arrest,  you  for  the  murder  *>! 
dr.  Si.  Clare.  \Vh;it  do  you  .*ay  lo  that? 

Leq-  This  in  my  answer!  [J/a£e*  a  blow  at  MAKES,  who  dodge*,  CMM 
>UTK  Ttcews  the  blow  —  fie  cries  out  and  runs  off,  L.  H.  MARKS  fire* 
*t  LKGRKK,  <md  follows  GUTE.]  1  ain  hit  !  —  the  game's  up  !  [Fails  d«ad 
'Ji  IMBO  and  SAMBO  reii*rn  and  carry  him  off  Laughing.} 

'iKoROB  SHKLBY  erUeri,  supporting  l  JM.  —  Music.     They  advance  to  front 
and  TOM  falls,  c. 

Ueo.  Oh  !  dear  Uncle  Tom  !  do  wake  —  do  speak  once  more  !  look 
up!  Here's  Master  George—  your  own  little  Master  George.  Don't 
»ou  kuow  me. 

Torn.  [Opening  his  eyes  and  speaking  in  a  feeble  tone.]  Mas'r  George  ! 
Siena  de  Lord  !  it's  all  1  wanted  !  They  hav'n't  forgot  me  !  It  warm* 
day  woui  ;  it  does  my  old  heart  good!  Now  I  shall  die  content! 

(fei'.  You  shan't  die  !  you  mustn't  die,  nor  think  of  it.  I  have 
^ome  to  buy  you,  and  take  you  home. 

Ton.  Oh,  Mas'r  George,  you're  too  late.  The  Lord  has  bought  me, 
iud  is  going  to  take  me  home. 

Creo.  Oh  !  don't  die.  It  will  kill  me  —  it  will  break  my  heart  tc 
ihink  what  you  have  sufl'erred  poor,  poor  fellow  ! 

Ton.  Don't  call  me,  poor  fenow;     i  fiavt  been  poor   fellow;   but 
that's  all    pa«i    and   gone    now.     I'm  right  in  the  door,  going  iuU 
glory  !     Oh,  Mas'r  George  !    Heaven  has  come  t    I've  got  the  victory 
&e  Lord  has  given  it  to  me  '     Glory  be  to  his  name  !  [Diet. 

muiit.  —  GEOROB  covers  UNCLE  TOM  with  his  cloak,  and 
over  lum.     Clouds  work  on  and  conceal  them,  and  then  work  of. 


VII.  —  (forgeoui  cloud*,  tinted  with  sunlight  EVA,  robed  t* 
vktie,  it  discovered  on  the  back  of  a  milk-white  dore.  with  acpandtj 
nngt,  AS  if  just  soaring  upward.  Her  hand*  are  ex-tended  in  b&mdtttiGa 
cr  CLARK  and  UX.JLK  Ton  who  are  tcufimg  and  ganng  itf  to  htr 
ifttute.  —  Slow  curtain. 


PIGTAILS 

Comedy.  3  acts.  By  Wilbur  Braun.  4  males,  8 
females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sydney  Campbell  live  in  a  small  town  near 
a  smart  summer  resort  with  their  two  grown  daughters, 
Annabelle  and  Florabelle,  and  their  son  Kenyon,  a  would  be 
song  writer.  Mr.  Campbell's  closest  pal,  a  man  named 
Brooks,  dies  and  leaves  a  daughter  nicknamed  Pigtails  on  a 
ranch  in  Montana.  Mr.  Campbell  invites  Pigtails  to  come 
East  and  make  her  home  with  his  family.  When  Pigtails 
arrives,  Mrs.  Campbell  is  horrified,  but  Pigtails  remains. 
When  Mr.  CampbeH's  business  burns  to  the  ground  and  he 
discovers  that  his  insurance  policy  has  lapsed  and  that  he 
is  ruined  financially,  it  is  Pigtails  who  steps  in  to  help.  But 
in  spite  of  our  heroine's  efforts  to  establish  Mr.  Campbell 
in  business  again  she  flops  dismally.  Just  before  the  final 
curtain  good  luck  crowns  her  efforts  unexpectedly  and  in  a 
series  of  screamingly  funny  episodes  she  manages  to  put 
her  benefactor  back  on  his  feet  and  is  started  on  the  road 
to  fame  herself. 

(Budget  Play.)  Price,  75  cents. 

LAUGHING  GAS 

Farce.  3  acts.  By  Charles  D.  Whitman.  4  males, 
7  females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes. 

Penny  and  Vivian  Whitman  decide  to  spend  their  sum 
mer  vacation  in  New  York  with  Aunt  Amy  as  chaperon.  In 
Greenwich  Village  they  become  involved  in  a  fantastically 
funny  plot.  The  girls  meet  Mrs.  Merlino,  the  Italian  land 
lady  ;  Olga,  a  Swedish  maid ;  Chris  Wynn,  a  mystery  story 
writer ;  Paul  Van  Doren,  a  radio  actor ;  Flavia  Winter- 
spear,  a  surrealist  poet ;  Kitty  Doe,  a  Broadway  chorus 
girl ;  and  others.  But — hardly  any  of  these  people  are  what 
they  appear  to  be  at  first  sight !  Some  of  them — and  the 
audience  is  never  quite  sure  which — are  members  of  a  no 
torious  gang  of  jewel  thieves  who  have  purloined  the 
famous  Bauer  necklace  and  hidden  it  in  the  apartment 
which  the  girls  unknowingly  rent.  In  two  hours  occur, 
among  other  things,  the  following :  the  girls  make  a  most 
amazing  discovery  in  their  clothes  closet;  Aunt  Amy  loses 
her  voice ;  Penny  vanishes ;  Flavia  composes  several  "sur 
realistic"  poems ;  the  necklace  appears  and  disappears 
again — and  finally,  the  case  is  solved. 

(Budget  Play.)   Price,  75  cents. 


ipiiimiiiiiinnmmmmnnimnninnnmiiifliimmininiira^ 

HOOK.  LINE  AND  SINKER! 

Farce.  3  acts.  By  Edith  Loring.  4  males,  6  females. 
Interior.  Modern  costumes. 

What  a  real  treat  it  is  to  relax  and  thoroughly  enjoy 
yourself  for  an  entire  evening.  Briefly,  the  plot  concerns 
one  Harvey  Hook,  a  young  chap  who  is  running  an  inn  at  a 
summer  resort.  Pretty  and  vivacious  Angel  Benedict  reg 
isters  at  the  inn  and  spreads  the  story  that  she  is  engaged  to 
Harvey.  What  she  doesn't  know  is  that  since  she  last  saw 
him  Harvey  has  met  and  proposed  to  lovely  and  charming 
Cherry  Raynard.  When  Angel  tells  Harvey  that  she  is 
ready  to  resume  her  engagement  to  him  he  tells  her  that  he 
is  going  to  marry  Cherry  Raynard.  Angel  is  furious  and 
decides  to  be  revenged  on  Harvey  so  that  when  Cherry  and 
her  very  suspicious  Aunt  Amelia  appear  at  the  inn,  Angel 
gives  Aunt  Amelia  plenty  of  information  about  Harvey, 
and  all  of  it  is  bad.  Further  complications  ensue  when  the 
boy  whom  Cherry  was  recently  engaged  to  comes  to  the  inn 
unexpectedly.  The  scene  in  the  last  act  where  Harvey  is 
seized_upon  by  three  angry  females  who  decide  to  give  him 
first-aid  treatment  is  funnier  than  anything  you've  seen  in 
a  long  time.  For  sheer  good-natured  fun  and  hilarity  Hook, 
Line  and  Sinker  is  the  perfect  mixture. 

(Budget  Play.)   Price,  75  cents. 

JUST  LIKE  CINDERELLA 

Comedy  for  Junior  High  Schools.  3  acts.  By 
Charles  George.  4  males,  6  females,  extras.  Interior. 
Modern  costumes. 

Charles  George  hit  upon  the  idea  of  taking  the  ever- 
popular  and  never-dying  Cinderella  story  and  bringing  it 
up-to-date  in  a  streamlined  version,  written  in  the  vernacu 
lar  of  the  day.  Lucinda  Carleton  (Cindy)  is  the  daughter 
of  Henry  Carleton  by  his  first  marriage.  Henry  makes  the 
mistake  of  marrying  the  Widow  Maggie  Mahpney  who  has 
two  unattractive  daughters,  Katie  and  Lizzie,  whom  she 
wants  to  promote  socially  with  Henry's  money.  When  Dud 
ley  Farnsworth,  the  rich  boy  who  lives  in  the  big  house  on 
the  hill,  gives  a  masquerade  dance,  the  new  Mrs.  Carleton 
is  all  agog  to  promote  Katie  and  Lizzie  and  Cindy  is  not 
included.  But  the  old  cook  in  the  Carleton  household  has 
other  plans  and  it  is  she  who  decides  to  provide  ways  and 
means  for  Cindy  to  attend  the  dance.  Of  course,  Cindy 
goes  to  the  ball,  leaves  her  slipper,  and  wins  the  heart  and 
hand  of  the  rich  young  Dudley  (Prince  Charming).  Not 
only  that,  but  Cindy  finally  subdues  her  shrewish  and  dicta 
torial  stepmother  and  restores  her  fathers'  peace-of-mind. 

Budget  Play.)  Price,  75  cents. 


TEMPEST  AND  SUNSHINE 

Comedy-drama.  3  acts  By  Ned  Albert.  4  males,  8 
females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes. 

The  entire  action  of  the  play  takes  place  in  the  living 
room  of  the  Middleton  family  on  a  plantation  in  Kentucky. 
Here  Joshua  Middleton  and  his  wife,  Nancy,  live  with  their 
two  daughters,  Julia,  whom  Joshua  has  nicknamed  Tempest 
because  of  her  fiery  nature,  and  Fanny,  whom  he  calls  Sun 
shine  because  she  is  so  sweet  and  lovable.  When  young  Dick 
Wilmot  comes  to  Kentucky  to  teach  school  he  is  inclined  to 
like  Sunshine.  But  Tempest  makes  up  her  mind  to  attact  his 
attention  and  does  so.  Sunshine  doesn't  care  for  Dick  except 
as  a  friend  and  Tempest  exerts  all  her  force  and  succeeds 
in  winning  a  proposal  from  young  Wilmot.  Suddenly  there 
arrives  upon  the  scene  a  handsome  young  physician  from 
New  Orleans  named  George  Lacey.  Dr.  Lacey  is  attracted 
by  Sunshine's  beauty  and  innocence  and  he  falls  in  love 
with  her  and  proposes.  Tempest  loses  all  interest  in  young 
Wilmot  and  falls  desperately  in  love  with  Dr.  Lacey.  How 
she  manages  to  make  Dr.  Lacey  think  that  Sunshine  is  in 
love  with  Dick  Wilmot,  how  she  contrives  to  make  Sun 
shine  think  that  Dr.  Lacey  is  fickle,  how  she  tricks  the  doc 
tor  into  a  proposal  of  marriage  are  all  shown  with  great 
dramatic  effect.  But  Sunshine  wins  Dr  Lacey  for  her  hus 
band  and  the  play  ends  with  the  two  sisters  reconciled, 
thereby  pointing  a  fine  moral.  (When  ordering,  please  state 
author's  name.) 

(Budget  Play.)   Price,  75  cents. 

LENA  RIVERS 

Comedy-drama.  3  acts.  By  Ned  Albert.  6  males,  7 
females.  Interior.  Modern  costumes. 

The  story  deals  with  the  plight  of  young  Lena  Rivers  and 
her  beloved  Granny  Nichols  who  are  compelled  to  leave 
their  New  England  home  and  seek  refuge  with  Granny's 
son,  John,  who  has  changed  the  family  name  of  Nichols  to 
Livingstone  because  of  the  social  aspirations  of  his  domin 
ating  wife  Matilda.  Durward  Bellmont,  whom  Mrs.  Living 
stone  plans  to  marry  to  her  daughter  Caroline,  becomes 
enamored  of  Lena.  The  younger  Livingstone  daughter, 
Anna,  and  her  brother,  John  Junior,  become  Lena's  firm 
friends  and  champion  her  cause.  In  the  last  act  when  it  looks 
as  though  Lena  were  going  to  lose  Durward,  Fate  steps  in 
and  proves  our  heroine's  sterling  character  and  the  denoue 
ment  at  the  end  of  the  play  is  startling  indeed. 

(Budget  Play.)   Price,  75  cents. 


»!«>?« 
x 

i 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


m 

WAR  1 0  1990 


SRL.F 
2  WEEK 


'005 


1990 


AUG  02  19 


Qt  Ov/k  v  i 

i8t 
SEP     7  2005 


ICdlClia      LU 


tf 

I 

«,' 


expose  them  in  his  _paper.  To  prevent  this,  the  girls  kidnap 
Warren  and  hold  him  captive  in  the  lior.se.  From  this  point, 
complications  pile  up  with  bewildering  rapidity.  For  good, 
clean  fun,  you'll  find  it  hard  to  equal. 
(Budget  Play.)   Price,  75  cents. 


MKK 

-  I 
£ 
I 


st 

I 

:? 

\ 

i 
I 
£ 


5 
:? 

» 


i'' 


1158  00474  8405 


BOOKS  ON  THE  THEATRE 

ELEMENTARY  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTING 

By  Edward  and  Alice  Mackay 

A  practical  modern  textbook,  adm 
the  new  teaching  requirements  of  st 
Besides  thorough  drills  and  exercise 
examples  from  modern  and  period  « 
to  give  actual  practice  on  all  teachin 

Price,  $2.00. 


000  112  692 


COSTUMING  THE  AMATEUR  SHOW 

By  Dorothy  Lynne  Saunders 

Although  intended  for  producers  of  amateur  entertain 
ments  in  schools,  churches  and  community  drama  groups,  it 
will  also  be  helpful  to  those  planning  masquerades  and  in 
formal  entertainments.  It  shows  how  to  solve  costuming 
problems  by  means  of  simple  detailed  instructions.  Illustrated. 

Price,  $3.00. 

DRAMA  IN  THE  CHURCH  (A  Completely  Revised  Edition) 

A  manual  of  religious  drama  production.  By  Fred  Eastman 
and  Louis  Wilson. 

An  outstanding  work  for  the  use  of  all  who  are  interested 
in  dramatic  production  in  churches,  Sunday  schools  and 
allied  fields.  Practical  and  useful.  Illustrated. 

Price,  $1.75. 

MAKE-UP  (Completely  Revised  Edition) 

By  John  F.  Baird.  Illustrated  by  Lee  Mitchell. 

The  book  offers  complete  material  for  a  make-up  course 
so  that  it  can  be  used  both  as  a  text  for  the  student  and  as  a 
reference  for  the  instructor. 

Price,  $1.75. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  THEATER 

By  Glenn  Hughes 

The  first  successful  attempt  to  present  in  a  single  volume 
the  entire  development  of  the  arts  of  the  theater  in  Asia, 
Europe  and  America.  Every  important  country  and  every 
important  period  is  dealt  with  briefly,  accurately,  and  inter 
estingly.  Indispensable  to  the  student  of  the  theater,  fascinat 
ing  to  the  general  theatergoer.  Over  thirty  illustrations. 

Price,  $3.50. 


BOOKS  ON  THE  THEATRE 

A  HISTORY  OF  THE  AMERSCAN  THEATRE 
(1700-1950) 

By  Glenn  Hughes 

The  complete  history  of  the  theatre  and  stage  in  America 
for  the  first  time  is  encompassed  in  a  single  popular  price 
volume.  The  result  is  a  monumental  work,  magnificent  in 
scope  and  achievement.  The  memorable  events  and  immortal 
figures  of  the  American  stage,  from  the  very  beginning  of  its 
history  in  1700  to  the  mid-century  year  of  1950,  are  here 
recorded  in  scholarly  detail  and  in  a  highly  readable  style.  The 
growth  of  the  theatre  is  traced  from  its  origins  in  small  hamlets 
and  cities,  with  liberal  descriptions  of  the  players,  their 
companions,  the  writers,  the  typical  theatres,  and  the  move 
ments  and  forces  that  have  changed  them  through  the  years. 

Price,  $5.00.   Postage   16c. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  THEATER 

By  Glenn  Hughes 

The  first  successful  attempt  to  present  in  a  single  volume  the 
entire  development  of  the  arts  of  the  theater  in  Asia,  Europe 
and  America.  Every  important  country  and  every  important 
period  is  dealt  with  briefly,  accurately,  and  interestingly. 
Indispensable  to  the  student  of  the  theater,  fascinating  to  the 
general  theatergoer.  Over  thirty  illustrations. 

Price,  $3.50.  Postage,  16c. 

NEW  THEATRES  FOR  OLD 

By  Mordecai  Gorelik 

A  stirring  account  of  the  rise  and  fall  of  stage  and  screen 
techniques — in  play-writing,  acting,  directing  and  scene  design 
— against  a  background  of  momentous  social  and  political 
changes.  The  result  of  many  years'  research  by  one  of  Broad 
way's  best  known  craftsmen,  this  book  is  a  panorama  of  stage 
and  motion  picture  technique.  The  most  important  dramatic 
styles  of  the  past  are  analyzed,  especially  those  of  the  last 
fifty  years:  the  Baroque,  the  Romantic,  the  Symbolist,  Ex 
pressionist,  Dadaist,  Surrealist  and  Propagandist  theatres.  We 
see  how  these  techniques  have  appeared  in  response  to  the 
needs  of  theatre  audiences,  and  have  changed  as  audience 
requirements  have  changed. 

Price,  $3.75.  Postage,  16c. 


